:-NRLF 


24 


A  WINTER  SWALLOW 


WITH  OTHER  YERSE 


A  WINTER    SWALLOW 

WITH  OTHER  YERSE 


BY 

EDITH   M.  THOMAS 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
1896 


COPYRIGHT,  1896,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


TROW  DIRECTORY 

MINTING  AND  BOOKBINDING  COMPANY 
NEW  YORK 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A  WINTER  SWALLOW  (IN  DRAMATIC  FORM)        *        I 

LYRICS 

THE  ROSES  OF  PIERIA  .         .  .         •     33 

A  BIRTHDAY  HEALTH 35 

A  HOME-THRUST  .         ...         .-        .36 

QUATRAINS  (3)     .         ...         .         .37 

THE  DISPUTE       .         .         .         .         .         .39 

Vos  NON  VOBIS   .         .         .  .         .41 

So  IT  WAS  DECREED     .         .         .         .         .42 

A  SONG  OF  TRIBUTES  ....      44 

A  VISIONARY .46 

THE  POISONED  RING     .....      47 
ULYSSES  AT  THE  COURT  OF  ALCINOUS   .         .     48 

HlMEROS 52 


305& 


CONTENTS 

LYRICS— Continued  PAGE 

AT  SEVILLE  56 

TIME'S  WORK        .  •      59 

THE  TEARS  OF  THE  POPLARS 

WINTER  SLEEP     .  •      64 

SIMILITUDES  OF  LIFE    .... 

THE  PINE-TREE      . 

GINEVRA  OF  THE   AMIERI        .  ..    .  71 

SONNETS 

MOTHER  ENGLAND  (I-II) 

THE  TRAITORS'  GATE   . 

OLD-WORLD  BELLS       *  •  •  .104 

OPEN  WINDOWS  ...  •  [05 

THE  WIND  OF  SPRING  . 

SUNSET 

AND  DESIRE  SHALL  FAIL      .  •    lo8 

THE  SHADOW       .  ... 

DOUBT •    no 

A  FEW  GREAT  THINGS 

HOMESICKNESS  AT  SEA  ...  .112 


CONTENTS 
SONNETS—  Continued 


INTERPRETATION  OF  NATURE         .  .  .114 
HEREAFTER           ......    IIr 

THE  BOOK  OF  DEEDS  AND  DAYS    .  .  .116 

THE  GREAT  CIRCLE      .         .         .  .  .117 

THE  CHILD-SELF  .         .         .         .  .  .    n8 

A  PRAYER  FOR  SUBTLETY      .         .  .  .119 

DISCOVERY  ....  I20 


vii 


A  WINTER  SWALLOW 

"  How  much  do  I  admire  the  generous  humor  of  Chelonis,  daughter 
and  wife  to  Kings  of  Sparta  !  Whilst  her  husband,  Cleombro- 
tus,  in  the  commotion  of  her  city,  had  the  advantage  over 
Leonidas,  her  father,  she,  like  a  good  daughter,  stuck  close  to 
her  father  in  all  his  misery  and  exile,  in  opposition  to  the  con 
queror.  But  as  soon  as  the  chance  of  war  turned,  she  changed 
her  will  with  the  change  of  fortune,  and  generously  turned  to 
her  husband's  side  ;  whom  she  accompanied  throughout ;  hav 
ing,  as  it  appeared,  no  other  wish  than  to  cleave  to  that  side 
that  stood  most  in  need  of  her,  and  where  she  could  best  man 
ifest  her  compassion. 

— MONTAIGNE  On  Experience. 


CHARACTERS 

LEONIDAS      .        .         .          King  of  Sparta. 

)  Son-in-law  of  Leonidas,  and 
usurper  of  the  throne  of 
Sparta. 

(  Daughter    of     Leonidas,    and 
CHELONIS  .     J 

(      wife  of  Cleombrotus. 

(  Children  of    Cleombrotus  and 
and  CLEON 


(  Chil 
I       C 


Chelonis. 
PRIEST  OF  POSEIDON. 

Various  Voices  of  the  People. 

SCENE 

The  Temple  of  Poseidon  where  CLEOMBROTUS,  on  the  restora 
tion  of  LEONIDAS,  has  taken  refuge.  The  walls  are  hung 
with  pictured  memorials  of  ship-wreck  and  rescue,  offered 
by  those  who  have  escaped  the  dangers  of  the  sea.  From 
time  to  time  hymns  and  ascriptions  to  the  God  are  heard, 
issuing  from  the  depths  of  the  temple* 


A  WINTER  SWALLOW 

CLEOMBROTUS. 

Vain  is  their  hope,  who  seek,  in  modern  days, 
To  breathe  into  the  current  civic  life 
The  glorious  spirit  of  an  ancient  State, 
Single  in  faith,  in  honor  absolute, 
And  shining  with  the  pristine  light  that  draws 
From  out  the  Golden  Age.     What  shall  avail, 
When  evil  grow  the  customs,  and  the  laws 
Wax  supple  in  the  hands  that  fear  them  not ! 
Ah,  Agis,  thou  my  leader  in  Vain  Hope  ! 
Brave  was  the  thought  and  generous  the  design, 
To  win  for  Spartans  their  prime  heritage, 

Equality  in  wealth,  and  place,  and  power. 
3 


A    WINTER  SWALLOW 

But  all  has  come  to  naught,  thro'  trust  betrayed — 
The  people  and  ourselves  alike  betrayed, 
Leonidas  restored,  and  thou  and  I 
Brief  sanctuary  craving  from  the  Gods ; 
Thou,  underneath  Athena's  brazen  roof 
(Like  to  the  heaven  that  frowns  upon  thy  cause) 
I,  in  Poseidon's  temple ;  while  each  one, 
Bereft  of  other,  Vengeance  close  pursues. 

[Here   a   voice  is  heard  in   the  inner  temple,  chanting 
delivery  from  the  sea.~\ 

Lord  of  the  limitless  waters, 

I  was  sinking  down  to  my  grave, 
When  one  of  thy  gentler  daughters 

Reached  out  her  hand,  to  save  ! 

God  of  the  savage  surges, 

That  beat  up  the  azure  plain, 
With  a  wind  behind  them  that  urges — 

A  goad,  and  the  shaken  rein  ! 
4 


A    WINTER  SWALLOW 

In  their  rage  they  were  trampling  me  under, 

When  Ino  arose  on  their  path — 
And  their  phalanx  was  broken  asunder, 

And  they  were  thrown  back  in  their  wrath. 

Then  on  a  billow  uplifted — 

Smooth  as  the  flight  of  a  dream, 
As  the  sea-weed  the  tide  has  drifted 

Up  the  still  course  of  a  stream, 

The  silvery  arms  of  a  river 

Received  me,  and  laid  me  to  sleep 
Where  the  reeds  in  the  sunlight  quiver 

And  faint  comes  the  moan  of  the  deep. 

[CHELONIS  has  entered,  and  now  slowly  glides  across  the 
foreground  of  a  painting  representing  the  rescue  of 
Ulysses. -} 

CLEOMBROTUS. 

What  moves  across  yon  pictured  curtain,  where 
The  struggling  mariner  lifts  his  prayer  for  aid  ? 
Chelonis  ? — Nay ;  some  cloud  upon  the  brain 


A    WINTER  SWALLOW 

But  shapes  her  rising,  like  Ulysses'  hope, 

From  the  white  anger  of  the  wind-lashed  sea, 

To  yield  the  talisman  that  smooths  his  way. 

Oh,  wrecked  am  I,  whose  senses  chaos  shakes ; 

For  still  my  sight  the  breathing  image  feigns 

Of  sweet  Chelonis,  with  her  eyes  in  tears, 

And  flower-like  hand  in  pity  reached  toward  me. 

I'm  overwrought.     I  will  look  otherwhere, 

Lest  melancholy  fancy  madness  grow. 

I'll  think  this  hour  she  sits  among  her  maids, 

Restored,  and  Sparta  rings  with  her  just  praise. 

I'll  think  (for  ne'er  so  warm  and  quick  a  heart 

To  fame  attunes  its  pulses  as  to  love) — 

I'll  think  how  at  her  feet  our  children  play. 

Some  little  grief  the  lisping  one  repeats, 

And  on  his  fair  soft  locks  her  kisses  fall. 

Oh,  lost  to  me — oh,  more  than  kingdom  lost ! 

[CHELONIS  makes  a  slight  movement  forward,  and  speaks 
in  a  low  voice.~\ 

Nay,  found  to  thee,  because  of  kingdom  lost ! 
6 


A    WINTER  SWALLOW 

CLEOMBROTUS  (still  with  face  averted}. 

Did  she  not  speak  ?     But  I  will  not  look  up. 
The  worst  befalls  when  sovereignty  of  self 
Retires,  and  darkness  surges  thro'  the  brain : 
Yet,  so,  the  hounds  of  stern  Leonidas 
A  madman,  and  not  me,  should  bring  to  bay. 

CHELONIS  (approaching,  touches  the  arm  </ CLEOMBROTUS). 
Cleombrotus,  no  longer  doubt  what  is ; 
For  I  am  here,  this  hand  my  hand,  and  these 
The  lips  that  thou,  and  no  man  else,  shall  greet. 

CLEOMBROTUS. 

Why  shouldst  thou  come,   my  soul?    What  draws   thee 
here? 

CHELONIS. 

Grief,  grief  and  love  for  thee — thy  need,  my  love  ! 
Has  drawn  me  here.     I  rested  not  when  once 
I  saw  thee  naked  to  the  hissing  lash 
Fate  flings  at  random  round  our  Spartan  world, 
Where  just  and  unjust  feel,  by  turns,  its  smart. 


A    WINTER  SWALLOW 

Or  just,  or  unjust,  how  can  I  divide  ? 
A  woman,  I,  alas,  but  know  my  house, 
Divided,  falls,  and  hearts  are  crushed  beneath. 
I  saw  thee,  as  I  did  my  father  see, 
That  night  I  glided  from  thee  in  thy  sleep, 
Nor,  lightly  kissing,  woke  thee  to  oppose ; 
But  made  all  haste  to  reach  my  father's  side, 
— An  exile,  whose  embittered  idle  lot 
My  utmost  service  might  a  little  soothe ; 
But  I  in  far  Arcadia  pined  for  thee. 

CLEOMBROTUS. 

Oh,  freely  didst  thou  leave  me  in  the  hour 
Of  hope  supreme,  of  triumph,  when  thy  name 
With  mine  should  have  commingled  on  Fame's  lip  ! 
And  com'st  thou  freely  now,  when  I  am  naught? 

CHELONIS. 

Ah,  then,  thou  wast  not  mine  so  much  as  now. 
Thou  hadst  for  wife  the  daughter  of  Pride  and  Power, 

— Glory  hadst  thou  for  wife — I,  but  the  child 

8 


A    WINTER  SWALLOW 

Of  that  Leonidas,  deposed,  contemned, 

So  thou  and  Agis  might  break  better  days 

For  Sparta  (have  they  dawned,  alas  !  )  ;  but  he 

Ascendant  now,  no  more  hath  need  of  me. 

And  I  have  come  to  thee — to  share  what  fate  is  thine. 

CLEOMBROTUS. 

Chelonis,  thou  art  truant  but  to  joy ; 
To  grief  thou  dost  desert,  as  others  wont 
To  fly  where  all  delight  hath  beckoned  forth. 
Thou  art  a  swallow  whom  the  shortening  day 
And  the  bleak  North  allure ;  with  dauntless  breast 
And  single  thought,  beating  against  the  storm ; 
While  all  thy  fellows  seek  the  summer  South. 
My  Winter  Swallow,  where' s  the  nest  for  thee? 

CHELONIS. 

Even  amid  the  ruin  where  thou  art, 
I  build  my  home  and  sing  against  the  storm. 
I'm  glad  my  father  is  called  back  again; 
And  nothing  shall  I  fear,  to  bide  with  thee, 


A    WINTER  SWALLOW 

Though,  haughty  in  return  of  power,  his  hand 
Rest  heavy  on  us  both. — Cleombrotus, 
Be  sure,  the  storm  will  break. 

CLEOMBROTUS. 

I  heed  the  storm, 

But  more  I  heed  thee  singing  in  the  storm. 
Now,  would  to  Phoebus  and  the  Sisters  Nine, 
I  bore  the  gift  of  song  within  my  breast ! 
Then  should  Chelonis  with  Alcestis  stand, 
With  Iphigenia  and  Andromache. 
Thy  name  should  darken  hers  by  Homer  sung — 
That  Helen,  whom  our  Sparta  bred,  and  Troy 
A  baleful  light  in  Ilion's  watch-tower  set. 
All  men  that  in  the  coming  time  should  read 
Old  annals  of  the  wondrous  loves  of  old, 
Should  turn  from  hers  away,  to  dwell  on  thine, 
And  make  thy  very  memory  blush  with  praise  ! 

CHELONIS. 

Cleombrotus,  men  still  would  more  praise  Helen. 
That  knowest  thou,  or  else,  less  man  thou  wert ! 

10 


A    WINTER  SWALLOW 

All  men  praise  Helen,  till  their  doom  she  sounds, 
And  even  then  to  some  she  stands  exalt 
As  Venus  Victrix,  conquering  all  who  live. 
None  but  some  woman,  in  the  after-time, 
Who  loves  as  I  do  —  scourged  for  love  indeed, 
Yet  full  content  —  shall  give  one  thought  to  me. 
Ah,  poor  Chelonis,  matched  with  her  of  Troy  ! 
Hereafter,  if  the  Gods  shall  ever  grant 
A  light  hour  and  a  merry  heart  once  more, 
My  love,  I'll  change  a  jest  with  thee,  on  this. 

CLEOMBROTUS. 

My  ear  deceives  me,  or  a  child's  voice  starts 
Through  the  long  murmur  of  Poseidon's  house. 

\_The  children  enter.  ~\ 


Mother,  I  pray  you,  stay  no  longer  here  ; 

The  voices  and  the  echoes  frighten  me. 

My  little  brother  wakes,  and  sobs,  and  sobs  ; 

I've  said,    "Hush,    hush,"    and    "Sweetheart,    do    not 

cry  "  — 

ii 


A    WINTER  SWALLOW 

Just  as  you  always  say,  to  quiet  him — 
And  given  him  shells  to  play  with — corals  too, 
And  those  white  bones  of  fishes,  quaint  in  shape, 
The  children  of  the  Sea  for  playthings  have. 
But  still  he  weeps.     O  mother,  take  us  home. 

CHELONIS. 

Dear  child,  bring  little  Cleon  here  to  me. 

Most  wisely,  sweetly,  have  you  played  the  nurse. 

Now,  kiss  your  father's  hand,  and  lay  your  own  in  his. 

CLEOMBROTUS  (embracing  the  little  girl}. 
Darker,  my  little  ^Egle,  are  those  locks 
Than  when,  unknowing,  I  caressed  them  last. 
A  year  has  barely  passed.     In  some  few  days 
Thy  father's  temples  the  reverse  shall  show. 

(To  the  little  boy.~} 

Come  hither,  little  man,  what  canst  thou  do, 
Thy  blue  eyes  shining  brave  thro'  all  thy  tears  ? 


CLEON. 


I  can  play  the  lute,  and  walk  around  the  world  ! 

12 


A    WINTER  SWALLOW 


Father,  he  cannot  !     When  he  plucks  the  strings, 
They  make  an  angry  buzzing  ;  and  he  thinks 
Our  garden-ground  at  Tegea  is  the  world  ! 

CLEON. 

And  where  my  father  goes,  I  will  go,  too  ! 

CLEOMBROTUS. 

I  wake,  I  come  unto  myself,  at  last  ! 
What  do  they  here  —  these  lambs  ;  and  what  dost  thou, 
Chelonis  !  surely,  in  thy  hurried  flight, 
Upgathering  them  with  fond,  distracted  heart, 
Thou  didst  not  use  thy  gift  of  presage  keen. 
One  doom  apace  shall  draw  them  down  with  us, 
More  surely  than  if  now  we  were  afloat 
On  rudest  raft,  in  the  gray  God's  demesne. 

CHELONIS  (seating  herself  at  the  feet  of  CLEOMBROTUS). 
Cleombrotus,  abide  the  event,  then  judge 

If  I  have  erred,  or  lost  in  presage  keen. 
13 


A    WINTER  SWALLOW 

The  children  have  their  part  to  play  in  this, 
Nor  are  less  moving  in  their  dear  effects 
For  knowing  not  they  have  a  part  to  play. 
Sit  here,  my  little  ./Egle,  on  this  side ; 
My  little,  teasing,  roguish  Cleon,  here. 

(To  CLEOMBROTUS.) 

If  e'er  thou  trusted,  now  put  forth  thy  trust ; 
I  hear  the  soldiers  in  the  outer  court. 

(A  Brief  Interval') 

[Enter  KING  LEONIDAS,  SOLDIERS,  PRIESTS,  CITIZENS — 
an  excited  and  vehement  throng, .] 

A  VOICE. 

Strike  down  the  wretch,  wherever  he  may  lurk ; 
Spare  not.     He  spared  not  to  thrust  out  our  King, 
The  loved  Leonidas. 

ANOTHER  VOICE. 

Less  said  were  best, 

My  valiant  Sir  ;  for  there  be  present  here, 


A    WINTER  SWALLOW 

Who  can  remember  how  thy  voice  acclaimed, 
"  Cleombrotus,"  and  still,  "  Cleombrotus ! 
Behold  the  just  Lycurgus  come  again  !  ' ' 

A  PRIEST  OF  POSEIDON'S  TEMPLE. 

Give  ear  to  mercy,  King  Leonidas, 
Soon  past  are  all  men's  days  beneath  the  sun. 
Haste  not  a  mortal's  never-staying  feet. 
This  is  the  precinct  of  the  God.     Beware, 
Lest  never  should  thy  hands  be  clean  again, 
If  once  ensanguined  in  a  holy  place. 

A  VOICE. 

Heed  not  the  priest,  O  King  ;  thy  vengeance  take. 
Poseidon  sways  the  waters,  not  the  earth. 

ANOTHER  VOICE. 

But  he  can  shake  the  earth,  thou  impious  one, 
And  he  hath  terrified  both  Gods  and  men. 

A  SPECTATOR. 

What  is  that  drooping  shape  in  sable  robe, 

Unsearchable  to  me  as  veiled  Fate  ? 
15 


A    WINTER  SWALLOW 

ANOTHER  SPECTATOR. 

Those  be  the  children  of  Cleombrotus, 
I'd  say,  who  cling  unto  that  drooping  shape, 
But  that  I  know  they  with  their  grandsire  dwell, 
They  and  their  mother,  safe  beneath  his  roof, 
And  far  away  from  such  heart-straining  scenes. 

FIRST  SPECTATOR. 

Hush,  see,  some  sudden  passion  shakes  the  King  ! 

LEONIDAS. 

Thou  canst  not  be  my  daughter  !     What  !  thou  art  ? 
And  here  ?     My  daughter,  art  thou  traitor  turned  ? 

CHELONIS  (rising  and  casting  her  veil  aside}. 
Oh,  no  !     The  daughter  of  Leonidas, 
Until  that  name  he  rases  from  his  heart, 
And  even  then,  in  mine  it  greenly  dwells. 

LEONIDAS. 

Leave,  then,  that  recreant,  and  return  to  me  ! 
16 


A    WINTER  SWALLOW 

CHELONIS. 

Daughter  am  I ;  but  wife,  a  dearer  name, 

I  also  bear  since  ever  from  that  day 

When  thou  didst  give  me,  from  thy  blessing  hand, 

To  this  Cleombrotus  thy  wrath  pursues. 

LEONIDAS  (turning  to  CLEOMBROTUS). 

Say  not  my  wrath  alone.     Great  Nemesis 
That  hath  the  hound's  scent  for  the  traitor's  track, 
And  fleetness  of  the  hound,  and  naked  fang, 
Cleombrotus,  pursues  thee  for  thy  crime. 
Gave  I  not  all  thou  hadst,  in  giving  thee 
Honor,  and  power,  and  deference  to  thy  voice, 
Both  by  the  people  and  thy  peers  observed  ? 
What  word  of  thine,  or  Agis',  for  thy  King 
Was  spoken,  when  the  ephori  returned 
From  that  grave  session  'neath  the  silent  stars 
They  hold  each  ninth  year,  on  a  moonless  night  ? 
Ay,  when  Lysander,  of  the  crafty  soul, 

With  grieved  looks,  in  broken  words,  announced 
17 


A    WINTER  SWALLOW 

The  stars  themselves  had  shot  an  argent  shaft, 

Which  portent,  none  might  doubt,  condemned  the  King, 

Saidst  thou,  "  The  lore  of  Heaven  hath  other  seers, 

Who  read,  <  That  shaft,  belike,  was  meant  for  thee  !  '  " 

Nay,  but  the  silver  ring  of  thine  apt  speech 

Even  then,  was  heard  to  promise  debts  forgiven, 

Lands  redistributed,  and  rank  erased ; 

Alien  and  native-born,  patrician,  slave, 

The  arts  that  sing  and  shine,  and  lumpish  toil — 

Yea,  best  and  worst — merged  in  one  level  drear. 

"  Lycurgus  "  was  thy  watchword,  and  thy  sword 

"  Lycurgus  " —  now  "  Lycurgus  "  be  thy  shield  ! 

Among  the  shades  he  blushes  to  behold 

Himself  to  earth  returned  in  such  as  thou  ! 

What  to  thy  King  and  father  dost  thou  say, 

Ere  steel  shall  send  thee  to  Great  Minos'  seat  ? 

[A  pause,  in  which  CLEOMBROTUS  remains  silent,  not  so 
much  as  lifting  his  head.~\ 

He  speaks  not,  nor  will  speak.     Soldiers,  advance. 

18 


A    WINTER  SWALLOW 
CHELONIS. 

I  to  my  King  and  father — I  would  speak  ; 

For  him  whose  guilt  be  also  on  my  head, 

For  these  who  guilt  have  never  known,  would  speak. 

(Indicates  the  children,) 

SPECTATOR. 

My  eyes  are  full.     The  sight  of  her  brings  tears ; 

But  she  has  none  herself.     Old  gossips  say 

Such  dearth  bodes  ill.     I  would  that  she  might  weep. 

PRIEST. 

Much  hath  she  suffered — restless  grief  her  lot, 
Who,  loving  both,  is  flung  by  adverse  fate 
Between  two  warring  ones.     Relent,  and  hear. 

{To  the  King.) 

LEONIDAS. 

Estranged  art  thou  by  thine  own  froward  choice, 
No  more  my  daughter  ;  yet,  because  thou  hast 

Her  voice  and  tender  likeness,  do  thou  speak. 
19 


A    WINTER  SWALLOW 

CHELONIS. 

My  lord,  the  King,  dost  thou  this  raiment  know  ? 
It  is  the  sable  dress  wherein  I  walked, 
Or  sat,  and  wept  with  thee,  or  sadly  smiled, 
When  we  abode  in  Tegea.     Thou  didst  wish 
The  rose  that  bloomed  against  the  garden-wall, 
Might  lay  her  crimson  by,  and  put  on  black, 
To  sort  with  thee  and  thy  most  mournful  state. 
Roses  were  on  my  cheeks,  light  in  these  eyes, 
Ere  that  thy  wrongs  and  sorrows  chid  them  hence. 
Think' st  thou  that  for  Cleombrotus  I  chose 
This  raiment,  and  have  worn  it  ever  since  ? 
Thou  knowest  for  whose  sake  I  put  it  on. 
Sorrow  and  wrong  from  thee  are  fallen  away, 
And  thou  art  King  of  Sparta,  as  of  old. 
But  dost  thou  think  these  sables  I  can  change 
For  boon  attire,  and  bind  my  locks  with  gold, 
And  look  on  triumph  and  high  festival, 
While,  sent  by  steel  to  Rhadamanthus'  seat, 

I  mourn  for  him  thy  hand  did  give,  and  take, 
20 


A    WINTER  SWALLOW 

Whom  first  I  loved,  and  last,  with  such  increase 
As  bounteous  Summer,  heaping  store  on  store, 
Sets  in  compare  with  promissory  Spring. 

A  SPECTATOR. 

Where  is  the  heart  in  King  Leonidas  ? 
Mine  molten  is  within  me,  at  these  words. 

ANOTHER. 

Hush  !  Kings  are  not  as  we  are,  thou  shouldst  know. 
All  hairy  was  the  heart  of  him  of  old — 
That  brave  Leonidas  who  held  the  Pass. 
But  listen  to  the  Princess ;  still  she  speaks. 

CHELONIS. 

And  never,  never,  shall  that  hour  befall 
When  I  shall  mourn  for  lost  Cleombrotus ; 
Since,  if  his  true  repentance,  sacred  oath, 
And  bonded  fealty  avail  not,  nor 
These  deep-drawn  sighs  for  pardon,  on  my  lips, 
Nor  the  mute  pleading  of  these  little  ones, 

21 


A    WINTER  SWALLOW 

Then  shall  Cleombrotus  himself  endure 

More  grievous  punishment  than  thou  canst  serve, 

For  I  before  his  eyes  will  let  life  forth, 

And  enter  first  the  precincts  of  the  night ! 

I  will  not  suffer  it  that  maids  and  wives 

Of  Sparta  shall  salute  me  with  these  words  : 

"  We  pity  thee,  unfortunate  Chelonis, 

Large  virtues  for  thy  dower,  yet  poor,  we  trow, 

In  sweet  persuasions  such  as  we  could  wield ; 

Since  both  thy  husband  and  thy  father  stood 

Unmoved,  and  threw  contempt  on  all  thy  prayers. 

Wretched  art  thou,  as  daughter  and  as  wife ; 

We  in  thy  place  had  pleaded  not  in  vain. ' ' 

So  would  they  speak,  if  I  would  live  to  hear. 

My  King  and  father,  do  the  Gods  entail 

Madness  with  wearing  of  a  diadem, 

So  that  the  glittering  circlet  is  more  worth 

Than  life  and  weal  of  those  once  dear  to  thee  ? 

If  this  be  true,  'twas  the  same  frenzy  moved 

Cleombrotus,  when  envious  hands  he  laid 


A    WINTER  SWALLOW 

Upon  that  fatal  badge  of  sovereignty. 

I  can  no  more.     My  voice  is  less  than  theirs, 

Who  in  this  temple  void  of  joy  entreat 

The  eldest  of  the  Gods,  hedged  round  with  dread, 

And  most  remote,  to  prayers  of  earthly  men. 

[She  takes  her  seat  on  the  ground  beside  CLEOMBROTUS. 
There  is  an  interval  in  which  is  heard  the  chanted 
prayer  of  one  who  has  a  ship  at  sea.~\ 

Saturnian  tamer  of  the  chafing  tides, 
That  wear  away  the  land  upon  all  sides  ! 
They  rise,  they  fall,  or  at  thy  bidding  stand- 
On,  what  to  thee,  that,  in  thy  rugged  hand, 
Thou  holdest  more  than  all  the  countless  prize 
That  in  thy  never-rifled  coffer  lies? 
How  bitter  is  thy  heart,  how  cold  thy  lip, 
Yet,  oh,  preserve  my  ship  ! 

For  not  with  gold,  nor  with  long-ripened  wine, 

Rich-laden,  I  that  ship  to  thee  consign. 
23 


A    WINTER  SWALLOW 

Oh,  more  than  life — my  love  she  bears  afar  ! 
Raise  not  the  mists  nor  hide  the  pilot-star ; 
Nor  let  the  whirlpool's  fatal  eddy  draw, 
Nor  rock  impale ;  nor  send  the  sudden  flaw. 
How  bitter  is  thy  heart,  how  cold  thy  lip, 
Yet,  oh,  preserve  my  ship  ! 

But  if  to  ^Egas,  where  thy  palace  bright 
Fills  the  blind  nether  sea  with  golden  light, 
Thou  bear  my  love,  and  charm  to  endless  sleep, 
Soon  will  I  follow,  down  the  breathless  deep, 
And  be  forever  where  my  love  abides. 
Saturnian  tamer  of  the  foaming  tides, 
How  bitter  is  thy  heart,  how  cold  thy  lip, 
Yet,  oh,  preserve  my  ship  ! 

SPECTATOR. 

See  how  the  Princess  lays  her  cheek  'gainst  his, 
For  whom  she  has  both  dared  and  borne  so  much. 
Ye  Gods  !  blest  is  Cleombrotus,  indeed, 

Though  life  be  stricken  from  his  grasp  this  hour. 
24 


A    WINTER  SWALLOW 

ANOTHER. 

So  have  I  seen,  when  in  the  chase  embayed, 
Some  hapless  creature,  bred  in  greenwood  aisles, 
Fall  in  the  open,  while  the  dart  flies  home. 
One  look  upon  her  slayers  round  she  casts, 
Ere  the  bright  guileless  eye  in  darkness  shuts. 

LEONIDAS    (after  consulting  aside   with  his  friends  pro 
nounces  sentence  upon  CLEOMBROTUS). 

Henceforth  thou  art  an  exile  and  an  alien, 

To  whom  no  more  the  sight  of  Sparta's  hill, 

With  the  great  temple  crowned  and  glorious ; 

Nor  the  long  valley  with  the  plane-tree  clothed ; 

Nor  wreathed  smoke  from  Sparta's  hearths  upborne ! 

Be  grateful  thou,  who  might'st  from  life  have  been 

An  exile  fleeing  in  the  leaden  boat 

Which  no  returning  pilgrim  e'er  hath  borne. 

Thou  owest  this  of  Clemency  to  her, 

Whose  bruised  soul  hath  known  too  much  of  grief : 

Take  back  thy  life,  that  else  had  forfeit  been. 
25 


A    WINTER  SWALLOW 

Now,  my  Chelonis,  come  away,  come,  come ! 
Thou  hast  the  boon  of  breath  for  him  obtained, 
And  luminous  art  thou  with  mercy's  light. 
Be  joined  no  more  unto  that  wretched  man. 
Thy  father's  roof  and  years  of  blessed  peace 
Henceforth  for  thee  and  for  thy  little  ones. 
Uprise,  and  come,  my  daughter. 

CHELONIS. 

No,  no,  no  ! 

The  boon  thou  gav'st  is  not  to  him  alone. 
Where'er  he  breathes  the  air,  I  breathe  the  same, 
And  the  lone  path  shall  double  footprints  show. 
And  these,  my  children,  'neath  their  father's  roof, 
Though  'twere  some  bleak  unsheltered  Thracian  hut, 
Shall  pass  their  youth,  as  I  with  thee  passed  mine, 
And  say  whene'er  they  will,  "  My  father's  house  !  " 

CLEOMBROTUS. 

Let  me  go  forth  alone.     It  is  not  meet 

That  two  should  suffer,  when  but  one  is  doomed. 


A    WINTER  SWALLOW 

CHELONIS. 

There  is  but  one,  when  thou  and  I  go  forth. 

LEONIDAS. 

Hear  me  !     I,  by  thy  mother's  sacred  name, 
Conjure  thee,  pass  not  from  my  sight  away. 
Thy  mother's  memory  points  thy  course  to  thee. 

CHELONIS. 

That  memory  hastes  me  on  in  my  resolve. 
When  failed  she  ever  from  her  husband's  side  ? 

(To  the  King.) 

Farewell — oh,  father — yet  farewell,  farewell. 
I  see,  I  know,  there  is  no  way  but  one. 

(LEONIDAS  and  attendants  retire,   and  the  guards  sur 
round  the  little  group  which  remains  behind. ) 

Cleombrotus,  thou  hast  thy  punishment 
Upon  that  head  which  late  usurped  a  crown ; 

But  take  therewith  what  comfort  comes  with  me. 

27 


A    WINTER  SWALLOW 

There  may  be  light  beyond  the  gloomy  verge 
Of  all  we  see  of  heaven. 

CLEOMBROTUS. 

Thou  Star  of  Sparta, 

Night,  with  thee  beaming,  far  outshines  the  day  ! 
Yet,  Oh,  that  thou  shouldst  sink  adown  the  sky, 
To  be  my  lamp  alone,  in  obscure  ways  ! 
Remain.     Live  thou  renowned  in  Lacedaemon  ! 

CHELONIS. 

In  vain  thou  urgest  (save  thou  bear  me  hate). 
Aught  else  is  past  my  will  that  I  should  do. 
Chelonis  goes  not,  neither  stays  :  it  is 
The  woman  in  Chelonis  sets  her  fate  : 
That  arbiter  decides  —  and  we  go  forth. 


THE  CHILD 

Do  we  go  with  my  father,  where  he  goes  ? 
I  can  walk  far,  and  never  stop  to  rest. 

One  day  I  walked  from  where  Fear  has  her  altar 

28 


A    WINTER  SWALLOW 

To  Laughter's  little  sunshine  temple,  where 
The  water-clock  sings  like  the  sweetest  birds, 
And  every  kind  of  bird  comes  to  be  fed. 
'Tis  a  long  distance,  yet  I  was  not  tired. 

CHELONIS. 

'Tis  longer  where  we  go,  my  little  -^Egle, 

But  look !  your  father's  arms  are  waiting  for  you. 

My  baby-boy  well  knows  his  nestling-place. 

Lead  forth,  O  Guards,  where'er  the  King  commands. 

Yet  stay  a  moment.     It  is  fit,  methinks, 

That  we,  Cleombrotus,  before  we  go 

(Though  gifts  are  none,  in  hands  so  bare  as  ours), 

Should  pay  our  homage  to  the  gray  Sea  God, 

Whose  threshold  is  the  last  that  we  shall  cross 

In  Lacedaemon.     Thence,  what  God  shall  lead  ? 


29 


LYRICS 


THE  ROSES  OF  PIERIA 

41  But  thou  shalt  ever  lie  dead,  nor  shall  there  be  remembrance  of 
thee,  then  or  thereafter  ;  for  thou  hast  not  of  the  roses  of  Pieria." 
—From  The  Bibelot ',  compiled  by  Thomas  B.  Masker. 

THUS  Sappho  wrote  to  maid,  or  dame, 

Of  Mitylene,  well  forgot : 
"  When  dead,  thou  shalt  be  dead  to  fame, 

So,  dead,  indeed ;  for  thou  hadst  not 
The  Roses  of  Pieria." 

Who  was  she,  dame  or  maid,  for  whom, 
A  few  sweet  mortal  flowers  resigned 

Their  sunlit  day,  to  deck  her  tomb ; 

For  whose  calm  brows  were  never  twined 

The  Roses  of  Pieria  ? 
33 


LYRICS 

Thou  subtle  Lesbian  !  happier  far 

Was  she  than  thou,  whom  yet  men  sing, 

Leucadia's  misty,  mournful  star 

Whose  hand  did  gather,  by  the  spring, 
The  Roses  of  Pieria. 

Why  spak'st  thou  not  the  word  that  warns, 
Ere  woman  takes  the  Muses'  pledge  ? 

Why  saidst  thou  not,  "  There  are  no  thorns, 
Thou  hapless  one  !  like  those  that  hedge 
The  Roses  of  Pieria  !  " 


34 


A  BIRTHDAY  HEALTH 

OH,  never  the  glass  with  the  falling  sands, 
To  measure  the  heart-warm  hour  for  thee ; 

But  the  beaded  wine  in  the  light,  as  it  stands, 
Crowned  with  the  rose,  thy  horologe  be. 

For  the  bubbles  arise,  as  the  moment  takes  wing, 
And  they  seem  to  say,  in  their  crystalline  art, 

"  Three  things  in  the  world  are  ascendant :  a  spring, 
The  bubble  of  wine — and  youth  in  thy  heart !  " 


35 


A  HOME-THRUST 

"  BE  constant,  constant,"  in  the  spring  he  urged; 
And  when  the  season  in  full  summer  merged  ; 
And  when  the  dry  leaf  fluttered  from  the  tree, 
"  Be  constant "  and  "be  constant,"  still  his  plea. 

Her  simple  heart  with  tender  zeal  sought  long 
How  it  might  free  her  questioned  faith  from  wrong : 
Twofold  her  sorrow  ;  ever  grieving  more 
That  he  she  loved  Doubt's  chafing  burden  bore. 

But,  failing  all  the  blameless  arts  it  knew, 

The  simple  heart  from  simple  subtle  grew  : 

"  Thou  art  inconstant — thou  !  else  wouldst  thou  trust 

The  soul  that  leaned  on  thee  !  "     Home  went  the  thrust. 

36 


QUATRAINS 

i 

TO   IMAGINATION 

ONE  day  them  didst  desert  me— then  I  learned 
How  looks  the  world  to  men  that  lack  thy  grace, 
And  toward  the  shadowy  night  sick-hearted  turned ; 
When  lo  !  the  first  star  brought  me  back  thy  face  ! 

II 

CONSTANCY   IN   CHANGE 

Oh,  would  that  thou  for  me  a  port  mightst  keep, 
From  baffling  winds  and  tides  that  troubling  roll ; 
Thou  canst  not !  better  then  thy  stormy  deep 

Than  the  calm  haven  of  another  soul ! 

37 


LYRICS 
III 

SANS   PEUR 

It  was  because  such  radiant  hopes  were  mine, 
That  fear  did  set  an  ambush  everywhere ; 
It  is  because  such  hopes  no  longer  shine, 
That  now  a  heart  all  proof  to  fear  I  bear. 


THE    DISPUTE 


OF  this  plant  they  still  dispute : 
"  Baneful,  both  the  leaf  and  root ! 
He  who  its  distillage  drinks, 
To  Lethean  darkness  sinks." 

"  Blest  the  root,  and  blest  the  leaf, 
Stanch  restorer,  cure  of  grief ! 
Quick  the  potion.     Baffled  Death 
Flees  at  Life's  returning  breath." 

There  the  two  alembics  stand  : 
Poison  dire  ! — elixir  bland  ! 
Of  this  herb  they  still  dispute ; 

Still  the  truth  flies  their  pursuit. 
39 


LYRICS 

II 

Then  was  brought  another  plant, 
Which  the  sages  viewed  askant : 
"  Wring  from  this  a  toxic  charm  ? 
Nay,  it  hath  no  power  for  harm." 

"  Of  its  juice  a  cordial  press  ? 
But  the  weed  is  virtueless  !  ' ' 
So  each  savant  did  reject 
What  he  found  of  null  effect. 

Smiling  scorners,  this  I  learn  : 
Like  the  herb  which  ye  did  spurn, 
That  which  hath  no  force  for  ill, 
Neither  can  it  good  distil. 


40 


VOS    NON   VOBIS 


THERE  was  a  garden  planned  in  Spring's  young  days, 
Then,  Summer  held  it  in  her  bounteous  hand ; 
And  many  wandered  thro'  its  blooming  ways ; 
But  ne'er  the  one  for  whom  the  work  was  planned. 

And  it  was  vainly  done — 
For  what  are  many,  if  we  lack  the  one  ? 

II 

There  was  a  song  that  lived  within  the  heart 
Long  time — and  then  on  Music's  wing  it  strayed  t 
All  sing  it  now,  all  praise  its  artless  art ; 
But  ne'er  the  one  for  whom  the  song  was  made. 
And  it  was  vainly  done — 

For  what  are  many,  if  we  lack  the  one  ? 
41 


SO    IT   WAS    DECREED 


THOU  to  lift  thy  good  right  arm, 
Thou  to  guard  her  from  all  harm, 
At  the  point  of  knightly  steel, 
And  thy  blood  her  triumph  seal  ? 
Nay,  another  claims  that  right, 
Thrice  a  churl  and  losel  knight, 
Craven  crest  and  tarnished  fame, 
Shield  that  blushes  but  with  shame  ! 
He  whose  veins  shall  never  bleed, 
He,  not  thou,  the  lance  will  shake, 
In  the  lists,  for  her  sweet  sake  ! 

Fret  not.     So  it  was  decreed. 
42 


LYRICS 

II 

Thou  to  soothe  his  weary  eyes, 
Kneeling  where  he  stricken  lies  ? 
Thou  the  cordial  to  outpour, 
And  from  swoon  his  breath  restore  ? 
Thou  to  read  his  lips'  least  sign  ? 
Nay,  another  hand  than  thine 
Yields  a  service  cold  and  loath, 
Listless  to  her  wedded  troth — 
If  his  spirit  stay,  or  speed  ! 
She,  not  thou,  the  vigil  keeps, 
If  he  wakes,  or  if  he  sleeps. 
Fret  not.     So  it  was  decreed. 


43 


A    SONG    OF    TRIBUTES 

THIS  is  the  truth  of  thee  and  me  : 
Many  the  rivers  that  run  to  the  sea, 

For  the  river  one  sea — no  more  ! 
Many  the  flowers  that  lift  their  eyes 
To  the  lord  of  the  golden  summer  skies, 

For  the  flowers  one  sun — no  more  ! 

On,  to  the  sea  are  the  rivers  urged, 
Within  the  sea  are  the  rivers  merged — 

And  the  sea  knoweth  them  not ! 
After  its  little  span  of  an  hour, 
Blossomed  and  gone  is  the  yearning  flower- 

And  the  sun  knoweth  it  not ! 
44 


LYRICS 

The  sea  that  receives,  or  the  rivers  that  run, 
The  flower,  or  the  unbeholding  sun — 

Happier,  who  shall  say  ? 
But  this  is  the  truth  of  thee  and  me : 
Thrall  of  love,  or  loveless  and  free — 

Happier,  who  shall  say  ? 


45 


A  VISIONARY 

HER  love  was  coming  from  the  ends  of  earth, 
His  face  was  toward  her  ;  hence,  between  was  nought ; 
Seas,  rocks,  great  woods,  no  bar  to  vision  wrought, 
But,  sitting  by  her  own  warm,  waiting  hearth, 

How  well  she  saw  his  face, 

And  rapt,  enkindled  eye. 

Her  love  was  coming,  day  and  night  on  night ; 
To  the  soft  stars,  as  he  impatient  came, 
Oft  sighingly  he  spake  her  tuneful  name  : 
Loud  roared  the  wintry  tempest  in  its  might, 

But  she — she  heard  that  sigh, 

And  her  heart  beat  apace. 

46 


THE  POISONED  RING 

SLEEPS  never  evil  that  hath  once  had  power  ? 

Not  clods  compact  the  venomed  sting  can  draw  ! 
There  was  a  ring  of  old  Venetia's  dower, 

And  for  its  seal  it  bore  a  lion's  claw. 

To-day  an  idler,  toying  with  that  ring, 

Found  death  was  ambushed  in  the  crafty  claw  ; 

Not  dust  of  time  could  choke  the  poison -spring, 
Not  clods  compact  the  venomed  sting  could  draw  ! 

Lover  of  Love,  forgive,  if  this  I  say — 

That  where  poor  Love  hath  but  a  single  hour, 
His  arch-foe  Hate  outwears  the  night  and  day. 

Sleeps  never  evil  that  hath  once  had  power  ! 
47 


ULYSSES    AT    THE    COURT    OF    ALCI- 
NOUS 

"  Pontonous  gave  act  to  all  he  willed, 
And  honey-sweetness-giving-mind's  wine  filled, 
Disposing  it  in  cups  for  all  to  drink." 

— CHAPMAN'S  Homer. 

ONE  OUTSIDE  SPEAKS. 

FOUNTAIN  in  the  starlight  jetting, 
Fallen  waters  softly  fretting, 
Bloom  of  garden  lost  to  view, 
All  its  soul  merged  in  the  dew  ! 
Dusk,  and  dew,  and  sweets  untold 
Me  in  nameless  thraldom  hold. 

Past  the  torch-lit  portal's  square, 
In  the  calmed  golden  air, 

Framed  with  purple  outer  shade 

48 


LYRICS 

(Like  a  dream  that  cannot  fade — 
Like  a  charm  Amphion-wrought, 
Built  by  music,  up  from  thought), 
Sit  Alcinous  and  the  Court ; 
While  this  stranger  grave  of  port, 
Clad  in  outland  garment  mean, 
Swart,  with  eye-glance  passing  keen, 
Lifting  voice  and  suasive  hands, 
Lord  of  speech,  in  presence  stands  ! 
Here,  beside  the  garden-pale, 
Come  but  fragments  of  the  tale  : 
'Tis  of  war  and  city's  sack, 
Breathless  sea-toil  and  blind  wrack. 
Every  word  doth  lodgment  find 
In  the  King's  deep  heart  and  mind ; 
He  who  can  Alcinous  please 
Holds  of  royal  meed  the  keys  : 

"  I  was  called  Shrewd  Counsellor — 

You  may  call  me  Wanderer. 
49 


LYRICS 

Speed  me  home,  whose  life  outworn 
Gropes  to  find  its  country's  bourne  !  " 
Ceasing  now,  he  seems  o'erwrought. 
What !  the  King  commands  be  brought 
That  old  Wine  of  all  men's  thirst, 
So  long  since  in  earth  immersed 
None  can  tell  what  sun  did  shine, 
In  what  land,  upon  its  vine  ! 
What  !  this  waif  from  off  the  sea 
Taketh,  as  hk  juggler's  fee, 
Honey-Sweetness- Giving- Mind' s  Wine  ! 
Finds  all  store — finds  food,  and  finds  wine, 
And  what  else  a  man  may  covet 
Here  on  earth,  to  live  above  it ! 

I  have  drunk  of  cups  acerb, 
Gladless  wine  and  sullen  herb, 
Till  my  veins  with  bitter  run  ; 
Yet  all  ill  were  quick  undone, 

Might  I  taste  that  potion  blending 
50 


LYRICS 

Calm  and  rapture  far  transcending 

Sun's  gold  cordial,  rippling  wind's  wine — 

Honey-Sweetness-  Giving- Mind1  s  Wine  ! 


HIMEROS 

"  The  God  of  love,  and  benedicite  ! 
How  mighty  and  how  great  a  lord  is  he  ! " 

IT  shall  befall, 

Ere  yet  the  wild  wing'd  droves 
Revisit  the  bare  groves, 
That  midst  her  wintry  sleep 
The  World's  great  heart  shall  leap 

At  some  far  call. 

At  some  far  call, 
Sets  out  the  migrant  bird  ; 
The  drear  dead  grass  is  stirred, 
The  moth  its  prison  breaks, 
And  each  lone  life  partakes 

The  life  of  all. 
52 


LYRICS 

Of  old,  as  now, 
This  was  that  power  benign — 
This  was  that  power  malign 
That  did  ordain  unrest 
And  hunger  to  be  blest : 

To  whom  all  bow. 

To  whom  all  bow  : — 
The  blossom  and  the  sod 
Feel  the  unquiet  God  ; 
Bird,  beast,  and  thine  own  race 
Strive  not  before  his  face — 

Then,  strivest  thou  ? 

Despair  thine  art ! 
Thou  canst  not  hush  those  cries, 
Thou  canst  not  blind  those  eyes, 
Thou  canst  not  chain  those  feet, 
But  they  a  path  shall  beat 

Forth  from  thine  heart. 

Forth  from  thine  heart ! 

53 


LYRICS 

There  wouldst  thou  dungeon  him, 
In  cell  both  close  and  dim — 
The  key  he  turns  on  thee, 
And  out  he  goeth  free  ! 
Despair  thine  art. 

Thy  bondslave — no  ! 
But  thou  shalt  wear  his  chain, 
Nor  meed  for  toil  shalt  gain, 
But  evermore  be  glad, 
Though  hungering  and  unclad, 

To  serve  him  so. 

Thou' It  serve  him  so  ! 
He  goeth  with  thee,  save 
Into  thy  quiet  grave  ; 
For  he  was  born  ere  thee, 
Nor  ever  shall  he  be 

With  man  laid  low. 

Not  then  he  tires, 

When  thou  art  smallest  dust 
54 


LYRICS 

Driven  on  every  gust  ! 

Still  round  the  glowing  world, 

Though  thou  be  cold,  are  hurled 

His  quenchless  fires. 

His  quenchless  fires 
Brothers  born  after  thee 
(Kin  of  mortality) 
Shall  house,  and  welcome  give ; 
And  lordless  shall  he  live — 

Lord  of  Desires  ! 


55 


AT  SEVILLE 

"  There  is  bitter  fruit  at  Seville — said  you  so  ?  " 
' '  I  said  the  fruit  was  sweetest  there.     You  know 
That  every  sweet  its  bitter  hath,  by  due  ; 
Who  tarries  there  too  long,  shall  taste  the  bitter  too." 

— Pilgrims  Ever. 

THERE  is  bitter  fruit  at  Seville  ! 
There  the  orange-groves  are  teeming, 
And  the  golden  spheres  are  gleaming 
'Mid  the  glossy,  sighing  leaves, 
While  the  fountain  sings,  or  grieves — 
As  your  mood  is  grief  or  revel — 
To  the  measure  of  your  dreaming  ! 

Ay! 
There  is  bitter  fruit  at  Seville ! 

There  is  bitter  fruit  at  Seville ! 

Other  singing,  other  sighing 
56 


LYRICS 

Than  the  drowsy  south  wind  dying 
Off  the  groves  at  close  of  day — 
Than  the  rosy  fountain's  play 
In  the  sunbeam  long  and  level — 
Other  singing,  other  sighing — 

Ay! 
There  is  bitter  fruit  at  Seville  ! 

There  is  bitter  fruit  at  Seville  ! 
From  the  old  Giralda  leaning, 
Many  a  youth  and  maiden,  gleaning 
In  the  orange-groves,  I  see. 
Ambushed  in  the  leafy  tree 
There's  another  holds  his  revel, 
Scarce  the  bow  and  arrow  screening- 
Ay ! 
There  is  bitter  fruit  at  Seville ! 

There  is  bitter  fruit  at  Seville  ! 

Sweet — and  bitter,  for  your  eating ! 

57 


LYRICS 

Soon  the  summer  will  be  fleeting, 
Dark  the  Guadalquivir  flows, 
Chill  the  air  from  mountain  snows  ; 
Then  the  winds  the  groves  dishevel, 
Through  their  empty  aisles  repeating, 

"Ay! 
There  is  bitter  fruit  at  Seville  !  " 

There  is  bitter  fruit  at  Seville  ! 
Long  or  brief  be  your  sojourning, 
You'll  not  go  without  heartburning : 
Say  "  adieu  " — and  yet  "  adieu ;  " 
But  the  spell  is  laid  on  you — 
(Spell  of  angel  or  of  devil !) 
Here  your  soul  shall  be  returning — 

Ay  de  mi ! 
There  is  bitter  fruit  at  Seville  ! 


TIME'S  WORK 

"  WHERE  got  ye  that  gossamer  weft 
For  those  locks  that  as  jet  were,  of  old  ?  " 
« <  Brushing  the  cobwebs  of  Time, 
I  bore  them  away  on  my  head  !  " 

"  Where  got  ye  those  seams  in  the  brow 
And  the  cheek,  that  so  smooth  were,  of  old  ?  " 
"  Oh,  gayly  fencing  with  Time, 
He  struck  me  athwart  with  his  foil  !  ' ' 

"  But  whence  is  that  droop  of  the  head 
(So  proud  as  the  yew-tree,  of  old)  ?  " 
"  Bearing  the  fardels  of  Time, 

I  stooped  ever  more,  as  I  went  !  " 
59 


LYRICS 

"  But  the  heart  in  the  breast,  that  once  sang 
Like  Memnon,  in  mornings  of  old?  " 
"  Half-muted  the  chords  of  that  harp, 
Since  Time  laid  his  hand  thereupon  !  " 


60 


THE  TEARS  OF  THE   POPLARS 

HATH  not  the  dark  stream  closed  above  thy  head, 
With  envy  of  thy  light,  thou  shining  one  ? 
Hast  thou  not,  murmuring,  made  thy  dreamless  bed 
Where  blooms  the  asphodel,  far  from  all  sun  ? 
But  thou — thou  dost  obtain  oblivious  ease, 
While  here  we  rock  and  moan — thy  funeral  trees. 

Have  we  not  flung  our  tresses  on  the  stream, 
Hath  not  thy  friend,  the  snowy  cygnet,  grieved, 
And  ofttimes  watched  for  thy  returning  beam, 
With  arched  neck — and  ofttimes  been  deceived  ? 
A  thousand  years,  and  yet  a  thousand  more, 

Hast  thou  been  mourned  upon  this  reedy  shore. 
61 


LYRICS 

How  long,  how  long  since,  all  the  summer  day, 
Earth  heard  the  heavens  sound  from  pole  to  pole, 
While  legion  clouds  stood  forth  in  bright  array  \ 
Yet  no  rain  followed  on  the  thunder's  roll ! 
Beneath  that  glittering  legion  shrank  the  seas, 
And  fire  unseen  was  borne  upon  the  breeze. 

The  ground  was  smouldering  fire  beneath  our  tread, 
The  forest  dropped  the  leaf,  and  failed  all  grass. 
The  souls  of  stricken  men  their  bodies  fled, 
And,  sighing,  flocked  the  wind. — We  heard  them  pass  ! 
The  priest,  that  scanned  the  portent  of  the  skies, 
Fell  reeling  back,  with  pierced  and  shrivelled  eyes. 

But  ah,  he  saw  not  what  our  sight  discerned — 
The  flying  chariot-wheel,  with  fervid  tire — 
The  steeds  that  unaccustomed  guidance  spurned 
With  fateful  hoof  and  breath  that  scattered  fire — 
He  saw  not  thee  and  thine  unmeasured  fall, 

And  Jove,  unheeding,  in  his  cloudy  hall ! 

62 


LYRICS 

Dragged  headlong  by  those  swift  immortal  horse, 
Up  to  our  sire  went  thy  vain  cry  for  aid  ; 
Neither  he  cast  a  bound,  to  check  their  course, 
Nor  on  the  golden  rein  a  hand  he  laid. 
Brother  beloved,  what  foe  could  so  deceive, 
Bidding  thee  dare  what  scarcely  Gods  achieve  ? 

Alas  !  that  we  remember — and  forget ! 
For,  if  we  sometimes  gain  a  brief  repose, 
Soon  are  we  roused,  by  sudden  fear  beset ; 
Then,  through  our  silver  boughs  a  shudder  goes, 
Our  heads  we  lift,  we  search  the  azure  gloom, 
As  though  thou  still  wert  falling  to  thy  doom ! 

Upon  the  earth  no  loves  were  ever  ours, 
Man  greets  us  from  afar,  but  comes  not  near, 
Nor  even  round  our  dark  unwindowed  towers 
Throng  the  light  birds — so  much  our  grief  they  fear ! 
We  sigh — we  tremble — 'tis  not  to  the  breeze — 
Brother  beloved,  we  are  thy  funeral  trees  ! 

63 


WINTER  SLEEP 

I  KNOW  it  must  be  winter  (though  I  sleep) — 
I  know  it  must  be  winter,  for  I  dream 
I  dip  my  bare  feet  in  the  running  stream, 
And  flowers  are  many,  and  the  grass  grows  deep. 

I  know  I  must  be  old  (how  age  deceives  !) — 

I  know  I  must  be  old,  for,  all  unseen, 

My  heart  grows  young,  as  autumn  fields  grow  green, 

When  late  rains  patter  on  the  falling  sheaves. 

I  know  I  must  be  tired  (and  tired  souls  err) — 
I  know  I  must  be  tired,  for  all  my  soul 
To  deeds  of  daring  beats  a  glad,  faint  roll, 

As  storms  the  riven  pine  to  music  stir. 
64 


LYRICS 

I  know  I  must  be  dying  (Death  draws  near) — 
I  know  I  must  be  dying,  for  I  crave 
Life — life,  strong  life,  and  think  not  of  the  grave 
And  turf-bound  silence,  in  the  frosty  year. 


SIMILITUDES  OF  LIFE 

WHATEVER  thou  art  I  know  not ;  but  I  am  as  these  unto 

thee: 
A  drop  of  white  foam,  I  am  snatched  from  the  wave  of  the 

wind-winnowed  sea — 
That  drop  to  its  source  thou  soon  wilt  restore. 

Thou  drivest  me  on  as  the  dust  of  the  earth,  from  a  sum 
mer-dry  road, 

Whirled  in  a  column  obscure ;  but  now  thou  removest  thy 
goad— 

Lo  !  I  am  dust  of  the  earth,  as  before  ! 

Or  out  of  the  clouds,  on  a  stream,  thou  sheddest  a  flake  of 

the  snow ! 
Whatever  thou  art — thou  Life,  I  know  not ;  I  stay  not  to 

know 

If  I  meet  thee  again,  or  meet  thee  no  more  ! 

66 


THE   PINE-TREE 

I  AM  that  magian  old, 

Phrygian  Atys'  friend,  and  loved  of  Pan. 

I  am  any  god's,  to  loose  or  hold, 

But  little  am  to  man. 

Thou  never  mayst  divine  me, 

Either  when  I  rave, 

Chanting  a  hoarse  stave 

Back  to  the  ruffian  mob 

That  smite  the  helpless  seas, 

Hurtling  from  the  cave 

Of  ^Eolus  Hippotades — 

Thou  never  canst  divine  me 

Then,  or  when  the  winds  at  length  resign  me, 
67 


LYRICS 

And,  with  a  long,  low  sob, 

I  sink  into  a  sleep 
So  sound  and  deep 

That  thou  wouldst  say  with  a  rapt  breath, 

II  There  standeth,  in  a  tree's  shape,  Death  !  " 

But  I  am  not  Death's,  nor  fear  to  accost 

The  Autumnal  Frost, 

Whom  he  sends  to  admonish 

The  sylvans  all ; 

At  whose  beck,  at  whose  call, 

Their  garlands,  grown  sear  and  wannish, 

Fall— fall ! 

If  thou  shouldst  take  from  me  this  centred  spear 

Wherewith  I  heavenward  steer, 

My  loss  I  can  redeem  : 

From  under-ranks,  with  fadeless  green  bedecked, 

Slowly  a  new  peer 

I  choose  me,  and  again  erect 

King-shaft  and  steering-beam  ! 

68 


LYRICS 
I  am  great  Pan's, 

Not  thine,  though  thou  mayst  work  me  to  thy  plans, 
Of  my  green  honors  strip  me, 
And  bring  me  where  the  tempests  clip  me 
Naked,  and  reeling  in  dance 
Over  the  serried  floor 
Of  the  dark  sea  ! 
Thus  do  to  me, 
Yet  vain  it  is  for  thee  to  seek 
(Listening  the  singing  shrouds), 
What  oracles  I  speak 
Of  stormy  waves  and  tides,  of  stars  and  clouds. 

I  am  any  god's,  yet,  more  than  any  other's, 
I  am  the  still-loving,  star -herding  Mother's. 
When  she  is  far  away, 
I — no  facile  courtier  of  the  Day — 
Behind  the  deep  guard  of  my  loyal  boughs, 
Like  a  true  eremite, 

Muse  on  her  smile  and  her  belov'd  grave  brows. 
69 


LYRICS 

If  thou  be  friend  to  Night, 

And  she  shall  rule  it  thus — 

Thou,  having  joined  thyself  to  us, 

And  through  our  dark  aisles  pacing  free — 

I  will  send  voices  down,  and  balms  for  thee  ! 


GINEVRA  OF  THE   AMIERI 


Un  giovine  di  nobile  famiglia  fiorentina  di  nome  Antonio  Rondi- 
nelli,  si  era  invaghito  di  una  giovinetta,  parimente  fiorentina, 
figlia  di  Bernardo  Amieri  chiamata  Ginevra.  Ma  per  quanto 
anche  la  detta  giovinetta,  fosse  innamorata  del  Rondinelli,  egli 
non  pote  a  niun  patto  ottenerla  dal  padre,  al  quale  piacque  di 
darla  piuttosto  a  Francesco  Agolanti.  Dopo  quattro  anni  da 
questa  unione,  si  ammalo  gravemente,  rimaso  senza  polso  e  non 
dando  piii  alcun  segno  di  vita,  creduta  morta,  fu  sepolta  in  un 
tumulo  di  sua  famiglia  sul  cimitero  del  Duomo  presso  al  Campa 
nile.  La  morte  per6  della  Ginevra  non  fu  reale  ma  apparente,  ed 
una  di  quelle  asfissie  di  cui  i  moderni  fisici  hanno  trovato  in 
tante  diverse  malattie  la  esistenza — Restata  la  donna  Hbera  o  al- 
quanto,  riavuta  dal  grave  suo  assopimento,  si  accorse  di  quel  che 
era  successo,  e  per  sottrarsi  da  quel  miserabile  luogo,  sail  la 
piccola  scala  della  sepoltura,  illuminata  da  qualche  raggio  di  luna, 
e  dato  di  cozzo  alia  lapida,  se  n'usci  fuori  Quindi  per  la  piu 
corta  via,  cio£  per  quella  che  rasenta  la  Compagnia  della  Miseri- 
cordia,  e  che  poi  prese  il  nome  della  Morte  da  questo  caso,  se 
n'and6  a  casa  del  marito,  che  rispondeva  nel  corso  degli  Adimari. 
Ma  non  essendo  ricevuta  da  lui,  che  dalla  fioca  voce  e  dalla  bianca 
7i 


G1NEVRA    OF   THE  AMIERI 

veste  la  credette  uno  spettro,  o  com'  egli  se  1'immagino,  il  ritorno 
dell'  anima  della  medesima ;  s'incammino  alia  casa  de  Bernardo 
Amieri  suo  padre,  che  abitava  in  Mercato  Vecchio  dietro  S.  An 
drea  ;  e  poi  a  quella  d'uno  zio  li  vicino,  donde  ebbe  ripetuta- 
mente  la  stessa  repulsa. 

Abbandonatasi  allora  alia  sua  mala  sorte,  dicesi  che  si  rifugiasse 
sotto  la  loggia  di  S.  Bartolommeo  nella  via  dei  Calzaioli,  dove 
chiedendo  che  morte  o  merce  desse  fine  al  suo  dolore,  si  sovvenne 
dell'  amato  suo  Rondinelli,  che  se  1'era  sempre  mostrato  fedele. 
A  lui  dunque  portatasi  come  il  meglio  pote,  ne  fu  benignamente 
accolta,  ristorata,  e  in  pochi  di  ristabilita  nella  primiera  salute. 
Fin  qui  I'istoria,  che  e  passata  tradizionalmente  sino  ai  nostri 
giorni,  non  ha  niente  d'inverosimile.  Ciocche  e  malagevole  a 
credere,  e  lo  sposalizio  della  Ginevra  in  seconde  nozze  con  An 
tonio  Rondinelli,  vivente  ancora  il  primo  marito,  e  reclamante  al 
tribunale  ecclesiastico  davanti  al  vicario,  il  quale  sentenzio  che 
per  essere  stato  disciolto  il  primo  matrimonio  dalla  morte,  poteva 
la  donna  legittimamente  passare  ad  altro  marito. 

— Osservatore  Florentine,  Vol.  7°,  pag.  iiq. 


72 


GINEVRA    OF   THE    AMIERI 
i 

How  fair  the  lily  of  the  Tuscan  field, 
In  gardens  of  the  Arno-side  how  fair  ! 

It  blooms  forever  on  Firenze's  shield  ; 
Her  very  paving-stones  its  image  bear, 

Her  lamp  that  swings  above  the  mouldering  stair, 
Her  glistening  wefts  from  many  an  antique  loom 

The  symbol  in  their  hearts  her  people  wear. 
Pure  white  its  leaves ;  within,  a  golden  gloom, 
Like  sunny  treasure  in  a  sunken  marble  room. 

II 
Ay,  like  the  treasure  of  a  marble  tomb. — 

Go  with  me  down  the  long,  long  years,  secure, 

And  I  will  bring  you  where  in  silence  bloom 

73 


GINEVRA    OF   THE  AMIERI 

Pure  lilies  gathered  for  a  soul  as  pure, 
Asleep  for  sorrow  that  no  skill  might  cure. 

In  the  dim  crypt,  dissolved  in  night,  they  lie, 
Save  as  one  errant  moonbeam,  all  unsure, 

Dropt  like  a  jewel  from  the  far-off  sky, 

Descends  to  kiss  a  flower -soft  cheek  and  folded  eye. 

Ill 

For  sweet  Ginevra,  some  few  hours  ago, 

The  solemn  murmur  in  the  twilight  street, 
The  snowy  cross,  the  pall  like  drifted  snow, 

The  white-clad  bearers  with  slow-moving  feet, 
The  torch  in  double  line  :  and  now,  'tis  meet 

She  in  her  fathers'  lasting  home  be  laid  ; 
And  they  who  love  her,  for  her  soul  entreat. 

Rests  none  more  true,  as  matron  or  as  maid, 

Within  Maria  del  Fiore's  holy  shade. 

IV 
Here  had  she  come  in  griefless  years  gone  by, 

Here  as  a  child  that  looks  on  those  who  weep, 
74 


GINEVRA    OF   THE  AMIERI 

And,  wondering,  asks  what  thing  it  is  to  die. 

A  narrow  cell  she  saw,  and  still,  and  deep ; 
Then  down  the  little  ladder  would  she  creep 

With  lightsome  feet ;  but  when  the  chilly  floor 
They  touched,  close  by  her  mother  she  would  keep, 

Nor  ceased  to  watch  o'er  head  the  glimmering  door, 

But  danced  for  joy  when  in  the  sun  she  stood  once 
more. 

V 

And  now  she  dreams  she  lies  in  marble  rest 

Within  the  Amieri's  chapel-tomb, 
With  hands  laid  idly  on  an  idle  breast. 

How  sweetly  can  the  carven  lilies  bloom, 
As  they  would  soften  her  untimely  doom  .... 

Nay,  living  flowers  are  these  that  brush  her  cheek ! 
She  starts  awake  amid  the  nether  gloom, 

From  out  dead  swoon  returning  faint  and  weak ; 

No  voice  hath  she,  but  none  might  hear  her,  could  she 

speak. 

75 


GINEVRA    OF   THE  AMIERI 

VI 

Vaguely  she  reaches  from  her  stony  bed  : 

The  blessed  moonbeam,  gliding  underground, 
Like  angel  ministrant  from  Heaven  sped, 

To  rescue  one  in  frosty  irons  long  bound, 
Cheers  her  new-beating  heart,  till  she  has  found 

Recourse  of  memory  and  use  of  will. 
Then,  soon  her  feet  are  on  the  ladder-round, 

The  stone  above  gives  way  to  patient  skill ; 

And  now  the  wide  night  greets  her,  bright,  and  lone, 
and  still. 

VII 
She  scarce  can  know  the  city  of  her  birth, 

The  magic  of  the  full  moon  changeth  all : 
There  is  no  stir  in  air,  no  sound  on  earth, 

Save  where,  in  dim  recesses  of  the  wall, 
Soft-throated  muffled  voices  may  recall 

The  doves  that  dwell  with  Mary  of  the  Flower. 

Anon  she  trembles  at  her  own  footfall, 

76 


GINEVRA    OF   THE  AMIERI 

And  while  the  great  bell  sounds  the  dwindled  hour, 
She  flits  across  the  dark  that  falls  from  Giotto's  tower. 

VIII 

A  moment — one — the  moon's  revealing  light, 
On  floating  robe  and  falling  locks  were  shed ; 

Then  in  a  narrow  street  she  turned  forthright 
(It  still  remaineth  surnamed  of  The  Dead)  ; 

A  passage  grim,  the  nearer  way  it  led 

To  Agolante's  house.     Him,  loving  not — 

Ay,  more,  another  loving — she  had  wed. 
The  hand  that  in  its  dotage  shaped  her  lot 
Nor  chided  she,  nor  once  her  wifely  state  forgot. 

IX 

Yet  days  had  been  (who  knoweth  not  such  days  ?) 
Of  the  sweet  days  of  spring,  forlornly  sweet, 

When  to  be  done  with  life's  involved  maze, 
And  on  the  other  side  to  set  the  feet, 

Far  better  seemed  than  long  days  to  complete, 

77 


GINEVRA    OF   THE  AMIERI 

That  drag  from  dawn  to  dusk,  from  dusk  to  dawn. 
Then  might  one  love,  unblamed,  from  Heaven's  high  seat, 
In  spirit  near,  the  more  from  sense  withdrawn. 
Thus  had  she  loved  three  days,  had  life  indeed  been 
gone. 


Oft  musing  in  this  wise  her  fingers  stopped 
Midway  their  task,  deserted  of  the  mind ; 

Then  down  upon  her  supple  knees  she  dropped, 

And  prayed  to  Heaven  that  she  might  guidance  find. 

And  sometimes,  were  her  swimming  eyes  inclined 
Toward  gray  San  Miniato's  reverend  height, 

Where  wondrous  marble  windows,  not  quite  blind, 
Transmit  betimes  a  little  flickering  light : 
So  much,  no  more,  she  wist,  hath  man  of  spirit  sight. 

XI 

But  ah  !  had  she  divined  her  own  white  soul 

(Now  likened  to  that  strange  marmoreal  pane 

78 


GINEVRA    OF   THE  AMIERI 

Which,  when  the  sun  is  at  the  western  goal, 

Smiles  inwardly,  and  takes  a  rosy  stain), 
Then  had  she  known  that  marble's  self  were  vain 

To  keep  the  sun  of  love  from  shining  through. 
Meanwhile,  as  spring  did  wane  her  strength  did  wane  ; 

Ofttimes  a  legion  world  of  darkness  flew 

Before  her  sight,  and  then  with  pain  her  breath  she 
drew. 

XII 

It  was  the  third  day  since  that  heavy  noon, 
When  she,  in  blinded  chamber  shut  away, 

Lost  the  warm  feeling  of  rich-hearted  June, 
And  ghostly  tapers,  with  oblivious  ray, 

Usurped  the  sunshine  of  the  living  day. 

Across  the  ancient  threshold,  heeding  nought, 

Had  she  been  carried,  mourned  as  soulless  clay ; 
And  now,  but  half-restored  to  sense  and  thought, 
Before  her  own  closed  doors  she  stood,  and  entrance 

sought. 

79 


GINEVRA    OF   THE  AMIERI 

XIII 

Firenze's  palace  walls  are  blocks  of  stone, 
That,  bodied  thick  and  huge  as  forest  oak, 

Might  seem  the  timbers  brought  from  groves  o'erthrown 
(And  petrified  long  since),  where  genii  broke 

And  hewed  the  rugged  trunks  with  thunderous  stroke. 
Firenze's  palace-doors  are  massive  wood, 

That  might  seem  all  of  stone  to  one  who  woke 

And  wandered  from  the  dead,  and,  wavering,  stood — 
Like  poor  Ginevra,  chilled  and  dazed  with  solitude. 

XIV 

She  knocks,  with  hands  late-folded  in  the  tomb ; 

Benumbed,  as  yet  not  touched  to  human  tears. 
Opens  the  window  of  an  upper  room — 

Charily  opens,  and  a  form  appears. 
And  now,  a  well-known  querulous  voice  she  hears. 

Sweet  Heaven  !  what  word  is  this  that  strikes  to  kill  ? 

It  addeth  horror  to  her  dismal  fears. 

80 


GINEVRA    OF   THE  AMIERI 

Beat  manly  hearts  in  manly  bosoms  still, 

Or  timorous  clods  for  hearts,  unstirred  to  good  or  ill  ? 

XV 

This  word  it  was  that  smote  afresh  her  life : 

"  Thou  shadow  of  a  form  and  voice,  away  ! 
Thou  seeming  voice  and  image  of  that  wife 

Of  whom  my  soul  within  me  oft  would  say, 
1  Thee  never  did  she  love,  and  never  may  !  ' 

More  like,  not  she,  some  subtle  fiend  thou  art, 
Of  those  that  lead  fond  piteous  men  astray. 

So  may  I  not  be  led,  despite  thine  art ; 

And  here,  by  holy  rood,  I  bid  thee  hence  depart !  ' ' 

XVI 

Sharply  the  window  closes  on  the  night. 

Cease  beating  at  the  door,  cease  to  make  moan, 
Thou  poor  Ginevra  !  pity  for  thy  plight 

Shall  sooner  draw  the  tears  from  very  stone 

Than  he  who,  centred  on  himself  alone, 

81 


GINEVRA    OF   THE  AMIERI 

To  pluck  his  soul  from  out  the  demon  snare, 
Shall  turn  to  think  of  other  than  his  own. 

There  leave  him,  rooted  on  his  knees  in  prayer, 
As  best  he  may,  this  night  of  terrors  to  outwear. 

XVII 

Mercato  Vecchio  shows,  by  morning  light, 

A  cheerful  face  and  sends  a  joyous  hum. 
The  stalls  with  wealth  of  tinsel  wares  are  bright, 

And  the  good  peasants  with  their  traffic  come — 
With  flowers  and  fruits,  with  birds  in  cages,  some ; 

But  when  its  throngs  are  sleeping  far  away, 
And  the  great  night  has  made  it  trebly  dumb, 

It  is  a  place  where  none  would  wish  to  stay ; 

And  past  its  emptied  court  Ginevra's  journey  lay. 

XVIII 

At  last,  at  last,  her  weighted  footsteps  near 
Her  father's  house,  and  hope  revives  apace. 

How  the  old  garden  feels  the  crescent  year  ! 

82 


GINEVRA    OF   THE  AMIERI 

Upon  the  walls  the  ivies  interlace, 
To  stay  the  feet  of  Dian's  marble  race. 

The  myrtle  and  the  jasmine  sweets  exhale 
That  steep  in  wine  of  Asti  all  the  place  : 

But  now,  the  odors  of  the  box  prevail — 

Fresh,  bitter  fresh,  like  wounding  memories  last  to  fail. 

XIX 

There  was  within  the  garden-wall  a  door 

Whose  spring  mysterious,  in  her  childish  days, 

Had  challenged  her  discovery  evermore. 

But  long  since  had  she  learned  its  baffling  ways : 

And  soon  the  moonlit  fountain  meets  her  gaze, 
With  the  grim  lion  couchant  just  beneath. 

Still  from  his  throat  the  gurgling  crystal  plays ; 
His  ready  claws  the  creepers  hold  in  sheath, 
And  round  his  maned  neck  they  throw  an  airy  wreath. 

XX 

A  living  presence  in  the  place  she  feels, 

That  makes  her  glance  about  the  shade. 

83 


GINEVRA    OF   THE  AMIERI 
The  garden-seat  beneath  the  palm  reveals 

Her  father's  self  with  years  and  slumber  weighed. 
Her  heart's  quick-bounding  impulse  she  has  stayed — 

To  clasp  his  neck  with  fond  encircling  arm. 
So,  some  few  steps  away  she  stands,  afraid 

Ill-timed  surprise  may  work  him  mortal  harm, 

Or  madness,  never  healed  by  cordial  or  by  charm. 

XXI 

Some  steps  away  in  moonlight  space  she  stands ; 

And  in  a  tender,  broken  voice,  and  low, 
Outreaching  toward  him  both  her  hands, 

Repeats  a  playful  name  used  long  ago, 
That  he  her  old  familiar  self  may  know. 

The  aged  sleeper  woke  from  dreams  unblest — 
Woke  with  a  cry  descending  like  a  blow, 

To  stab  the  hope  new-risen  in  her  breast, 

That  happier  were,  composed  in  lasting  stony  rest. 


84 


GINEVRA    OF   THE  AMIERI 

XXII 

"  And  dost  thou  still  upbraid  me,  spirit  now, 
As  thou  with  looks,  not  words,  hast  ever  done, 

Because  I  bade  thee  break  the  idle  vow 

In  childhood  changed  with  Rondinelli's  son, 

Since  better  elsewhere  wast  thou  wooed  and  won. 
But  oh,  that  father's  love  should  reap  such  spite, 

A  father's  care  at  every  point  undone  ! 

Thou  wast  a  mute  reproach,  while  in  my  sight, 
And  now  thou  leav'st   the  dead,  to  steal  my  rest  at 
night!  " 

XXIII 

While  senile  chatterings  shake  his  wasted  frame, 
She,  spirit-like,  hath  vanished  from  the  spot. 

Back  to  himself  with  foolish  tears  he  came, 
Seeing  that  all  which  vexed  him  so  was  not — 

Was  but  a  filmy  dream.     "  Yet  dreams,  God  wot, 
Do  truer  seem  than  truth  when  we  are  old. 

But  had  my  daughter  lived,  not  thus  forgot 

85 


GINEVRA    OF   THE  AMIERI 

Had  I  been  sleeping  on  the  marble  cold  : 
My  daughter  rests — poor   lamb  ! — she  rests   in    Jesu's 
fold." 

XXIV 

There  is  a  festa  in  the  middle  time 

Of  glowing  summer — St.  Zenobio's  Day, 
When  all  the  streets  do  bloom  from  early  prime. 

A  little  trellis,  wreathed  with  blossoms  gay, 
They  hang  above  the  window,  whence,  they  say, 

The  holy  man  looked  forth  with  godly  cheer ; 
Howe'er  that  be,  remains  the  blossomed  spray, 

And  none  will  pluck  it  down,  tho',  wan  and  sear, 

It  sighs  so  mournfully  amid  the  wintry  year ! 

XXV 

Now  with  a  quick  and  keen  remembering, 

Ginevra  finds  the  symbol  of  her  fate 
In  St.  Zenobio's  flowers  that  cling,  and  cling, 

And  long  outlast  the  joyous  summer's  date. 

Since  earthly  portal  and  celestial  gate 

86 


GINEVRA    OF   THE  AMIERI 

Alike  refuse  a  shelter  to  her  head, 
She  grows  uncertain  of  her  own  estate  : 
And  what  if  it  be  so — as  they  have  said — 
She  lives  not  now,  but  comes  a  dreamer  from  the  dead  ? 

XXVI 

More  lightly  then  she  moved,  like  blessed  ghost 

To  earth  on  gentlest  visitation  bent ; 
And  by  the  old  wool-market's  doorway  crossed. 

Above,  the  sculptured  lamb,  most  innocent, 
Looks  back,  and  bears  in  docile  young  content 

Its  banner  of  the  Guelph  or  Ghibelline. — 
On,  with  undeviating  step  she  went, 

As  one  that  follows  out  a  clear  design ; 

Whereto  hath  Heaven  itself  vouchsafed  its  seal  divine. 


XXVII 

In  Via  Calzaioli  stood,  of  old, 

The  house  of  Rondinelli.     (Stands  it  yet, 

87 


GINEVRA    OF   THE  AMIERI 

While  Time  and  Chance  their  ruinous  courses  hold  ? 

Albeit  Florence,  like  a  gem  reset, 
Shines  with  mild  splendor  none  can  e'er  forget.) 

For  sad  Ginevra  in  that  house  abode 
One  whom  she  loved,  yet  not  in  years  had  met, 

Nor  e'er  might  meet  upon  her  earthly  road. 

Now  all  was  changed,  since  she  had  dropped  her  mortal 
load. 

XXVIII 

Thus  in  her  thought  she  wanders,  wide  astray, 
Brain-sick  with  troubles  of  the  lingering  night ; 

When  from  one  window  gleams  a  candle-ray. 
It  was  the  first  sweet,  charitable  light 

In  all  that  dismal  round  had  blessed  her  sight. 
A  form  within  the  window  she  discerns, 

Of  one  who  gazes,  lone  as  eremite, 

A  moment  on  the  silent  Heaven,  then  turns, 
To  seek  a  weary  couch  where  no  repose  he  earns. 


GINEVRA    OF   THE  AMIERI 

XXIX 

Unto  the  silent  Heaven,  where,  he  deemed, 
His  only  love  was  gone,  he  raised  his  eyes  ; 

And,  it  might  be,  awhile  entranced  he  dreamed 
He  saw  her  own  unclose,  in  glad  surprise, 

To  meet  the  rosy  dawn  in  Paradise. 
But,  even  now,  a  voice  is  in  his  ears — 

Like  tenderest  wind-voices — voice  of  sighs — 

Melodious,  wandering,  vague ;  at  last,  more  clear, 
It  fulls,  in  tones  at  once  memorial  and  dear. 

XXX 

"  To  thee,  I  come,  because  no  more  I  live. 

Rejoice  therefor,  nor  be  by  doubt  oppressed. 
'Tis  Heaven,  Antonio,  doth  my  warrant  give. 

Though  from  the  dead,  I  walk  a  spirit  blest, 
Permitted  to  fulfil  so  high  behest ; 

For  henceforth,  by  my  guiding  care  constrained, 

Thou  shalt  not  miss  thy  way  to  heavenly  rest. 

89 


GINEVRA    OF   THE  AMIERI 

And  know,  if  it  can  soothe  a  heart  long  pained, 
That  I  did  love  thee  well — how  well ! — while  life  re 
mained." 

XXXI 

There  ceased  the  voice,  there  utterly  it  ceased. 

She  fell,  as  drift  of  snow  dislodged  might  fall — 
As  silently ;  as  if,  indeed,  released, 

Her  troubled  spirit  had  surmounted  all. 
One  moment — one — enchantment's  idle  thrall 

Antonio  at  the  window  stood  aghast ; 
Then  the  long  staircase  and  the  echoing  hall, 

With  blurred  candle,  breathlessly  he  passed. 

The  chained  and  bolted  door  withstands,  but  yields  at 
last. 

XXXII 

Beside  her,  down  upon  the  stone  he  kneels ; 

And,  uttering  many  a  hurried,  tremulous  word, 
Her  languid  wrists  for  sign  of  life  he  feels. 

Then  suddenly  to  him  a  test  occurred, 
90 


GINEVRA    OF   THE  AMIERI 

Which  in  familiar  lore  he  oft  had  heard  : 
To  hold  before  her  lips  the  candle  flame, 

To  try,  if  ne'er  so  faintly,  it  were  stirred. 

Ah,  joy  !  the  breath  of  being  went,  and  came, 
And  a  light  tremor  ran  along  her  slender  frame. 

XXXIII 

Then  did  he  lift  her  in  his  two  strong  arms, 
And  bear  her  up  the  stair,  with  single  thought 

How  he  might  save  her  from  all  rude  alarms, 

With  which  a  thronged  waking  might  be  fraught. 

And  therefore,  he  his  precious  burden  brought 
The  nearest  way  into  a  chapel  small, 

Where  Heaven's  mercy  he  ofttimes  had  sought, 
And  where,  now  half  in  shadow,  from  the  wall 
Del  Sarto's  Virgin  gazed — the  sweetest  face  of  all. 

XXXIV 

So  gazed  the  dear  Madonna,  dimly  sweet, 
Upon  Ginevra  waking  from  her  swoon, 


GINEVRA    OF   THE  AMIERI 

And  on  Antonio  kneeling  at  her  feet, 

Transfigured  all,  beneath  the  saintly  moon. 

Her  curving  lips  part  smilingly,  and  soon 
Make  murmur,  half  caressing,  half  a  prayer ; 

"  Be  praise  unto  our  Lady  for  this  boon, 

That  we  one  death,  one  heavenly  entrance  share. — 
The  glory,  even  now,  rests  on  thy  brows  and  hair  !  " 

XXXV 

But  swift  the  change  that  o'er  her  features  passed, 

Infinite  trouble  in  her  pleading  eyes  ; 
"  Tell  me,  for  all  my  soul  is  overcast, 

How,  if  we  two  are  havened  in  the  skies, 
This  grief  of  the  old  earth  can  also  rise. 

Surely,  I  from  the  grave  myself  set  free, 
And,  wandering  in  white  funereal  guise, 

All  fled  when  they  my  phantom  shape  did  see ; 

Yet  thou,  if  this  be  true — thou  hast  no  fear  of  me  !  " 


92 


GINEVRA    OF   THE  AMIERI 

XXXVI 

"  No  fear  of  thee — no,  not  if  thou,  indeed, 
Were  spirit  all,  and  sight  of  thee  could  kill." 

His  words  her  blind  imprisoned  senses  freed ; 
Truth  like  a  frost-wind  rushed  upon  her  chill : 

"  Alas,  then,  thou  and  I  are  living  still, 
And  still  must  linger  in  this  world  unkind  !  " 

In  his  strong  arms  he  soothed  her  until 

She  found  a  voice  and  clear-remembering  mind, 
To  tell  him  what  had  chanced  since  her  the  grave  re 
signed. 

XXXVII 

And  when  her  mournful  story  all  was  told 

To  where  he  found  her  fallen  at  his  door, 
Her  voice  broke  off  with  sobbings  manifold  : 

"  And  I  have  learned — oh,  knowledge  wounding  sore  ! 
That  they  who  loved  me  once  do  love  no  more. 

Yet  must  I  their  unwilling  shelter  seek, 
93 


GINEVRA    OF   THE  AMIERI 

Where  only  bitterness  can  be  in  store. 
I  know  not  what  to  do — I  am  too  weak 
With  the  great  load  of  life  and  death — but  do  thou 
speak." 

XXXVIII 

Spoke  then  the  voice  of  love,  long  years  uppent, 
Freed,  as  the  rivers  from  their  flood-gates  be, 

When  rains  of  Heaven  a  vernal  force  have  lent. 
"  Ay,  let  me  speak — and  thou,  give  heed  to  me 

Whose  soul  is  bowed,  the  while  I  bend  the  knee. 
My  own  Ginevra — mine  !     Nay,  do  not  start ; 

It  has  befallen  by  divine  decree 

That  thou  may'st  safely  shelter  in  my  heart, 
Though  we  but  lately  stood  the  breadth  of  Heaven 
apart." 

XXXIX 

"  Ah  !  better  now,  with  all  the  holy  dead, 
To  be  at  rest  than  on  such  counsel  lean  !  " 

"  Nay,  hear  my  counsel  to  the  end,"  he  said  ; 

94 


GINEVRA    OF   THE  AMIERI 

"  It  is  because  thou  with  the  dead  hast  been, 
Thou  dwellest  not  within  the  Law's  demesne  j 

But  void  is  every  bond  aforetime  made. 
When  death  or  death-like  trance  doth  supervene, 

The  veriest  wretch  that  once  his  doom  hath  paid 

May  henceforth  rest  secure — the  hand  of  Law  is  stayed. 

XL 

"  Thou  wast  too  young,  or  well  thou  could 'st  recall 

The  Lady  Federiga — true  and  fond, 
And  therefore  hurried  past  a  convent  wall. 

Despite  her  vows,  she  sank  in  Love's  despond. 
One  night  her  soul,  like  thine,  did  stray  beyond 

This  limitary  life  :  returned  again, 
Our  Mother  Church  absolved  her  from  her  bond  ; 

Since,  having  deemed  her  dead,  it  could  no  more  con 
strain. 

Some  months  flew  by,  and  those  who  loved,  the  Church 
made  twain." 


95 


GINEVRA    OF   THE  AMIERI 

XLI 

She  listens,  and  belief  gains  way  the  while : 
"  Antonio,  Truth  and  thou  wert  ever  one, 

Nor  could'st  thou  change  so  much,  to  treat  with  guile 
A  creature  whose  good  days  beneath  the  sun 

But  lately  were  like  sands  almost  outrun." 

"  Soul  of  my  soul !     I  have  not  changed,  I  swear  ! 

Say  only  what  thou  would 'st — it  shall  be  done : 
And  thou  may'st  seek,  till  we  one  home  do  share, 
The  pitying  sisterhood  and  St.  Umilta's  care." 

XLII 

What  sorcery  in  the  moon's  all-blanching  beam, 
To  steal  the  rose  of  life  from  those  we  know, 

When,  like  the  haunting  sculpture  of  a  dream, 
Pallid  and  strange  those  household  faces  show. 

But  on  Ginevra's  cheek  a  living  glow 

Came  with  the  kiss  upon  her  forehead  laid ; 

She  looked  as  she  did  look  full  long  ago, 

96 


GINEVRA   OF   THE  AMIERI 

When  each  to  other  felt  their  being  swayed 

In  Love's  mysterious  dawn,  that  held  them  half-afraid. 

XLIII 

There  was  a  chamber  opening  toward  the  West, 
Where  burned,  all  times,  a  pale  and  starry  light. 

The  sportive  name  of  Filomela's  Nest 

It  once  had  borne ;  but,  lost  to  mortal  sight, 

The  singing-bird  had  winged  a  silent  flight. 
"  Thou  in  my  sister's  room  a  guest  shall  be, 

Where,  since  she  slept,  none  e'er  hath  passed  a  night. 
Of  all  who  gave  her  love,  she  most  loved  thee  : 
Her  spirit  there  shall  breathe,  and  thou  shalt  trust  in 
me." 

XLIV 

So  saying,  once  again  he  lifted  her, 

And  soon,  amidst  the  pillows'  driven  snow, 

She  slept  as  though  all  sorrows  cancelled  were, 
That  have  been  or  can  be  on  earth  below. 

His  eyes  her  sleeping  face  could  not  forego  ; 

97 


GINEVRA    OF   THE  AMIERI 

And  Love  kept  guard,  as  of  a  miser's  thrift ; 
For,  the  once-wandered  spirit — who  can  know  ? — 
May  find  again  the  still  unknitted  rift, 
And  slip  away ;  and  thus,  the  Gods  recall  their  gift. 

XLV 

Adieu,  thou  tenderest  wanderer,  adieu  ! 

>Tis  strange  to  leave  thee  ere  thy  joy-bells  ring, 
For  I  have  traced  each  way  thy  footsteps  knew, 

And  followed  all  thy  drear  night-journeying ; 
And  seen  thy  Blossom-City  crowned  with  spring, 

The  while,  thy  story's  fragrant  crypt  unsealed, 
The  winds  of  Time  such  sweetness  brought — and  bring  ! 

How  fair  the  lily  of  the  Tuscan  field, 

And  still,  how  fair  it  blooms  upon  Firenze's  shield  ! 


98 


SONNETS 


MOTHER  ENGLAND 
i 

THERE  was  a  rover  from  a  western  shore, 
England  !  whose  eyes  the  sudden  tears  did  drown, 
Beholding  the  white  cliff  and  sunny  down 
Of  thy  good  realm,  beyond  the  sea's  uproar. 
I,  for  a  moment,  dreamed  that,  long  before, 
I  had  beheld  them  thus,  when,  with  the  frown 
Of  sovereignty,  the  victor's  palm  and  crown 
Thou  from  the  tilting-field  of  nations  bore. 

Thy  prowess  and  thy  glory  dazzled  first ; 
But  when  in  fields  I  saw  the  tender  flame 
Of  primroses,  and  full-fleeced  lambs  at  play, 
Meseemed  I  at  thy  breast,  like  these,  was  nursed ; 
Then  mother — Mother  England  !  home  I  came, 

Like  one  who  hath  been  all  too  long  away  ! 
101 


SONNETS 

II 

As  nestling  at  thy  feet  in  peace  I  lay, 
A  thought  awoke  and  restless  stirred  in  me : 
"  My  land  and  congeners  are  beyond  the  sea, 
Theirs  is  the  morning  and  the  evening  day. 
Wilt  thou  give  ear  while  this  of  them  I  say  : 
'  Haughty  art  thou,  and  they  are  bold  and  free, 
As  well  befits  who  have  descent  from  thee, 
And  who  have  trodden  brave  the  forlorn  way. 

Children  of  thine,  but  grown  to  strong  estate  ; 
Nor  scorn  from  thee  would  they  be  slow  to  pay, 
Nor  check  from  thee  submissly  would  they  bear ; 
Yet,  Mother  England  !  yet  their  hearts  are  great, 
And  if  for  thee  should  dawn  some  darkest  day, 
At  cry  of  thine,  how  proudly  would  they  dare  ! '  " 


102 


THE  TRAITORS'  GATE 

At  the  Tower  of  London 

THOU  low -browed,  fateful  archway  to  the  Thames  ! 
I  stood  beside  the  long-shut  gate,  and  thought 
Of  all  those  sad  ones  who  were  hither  brought 
In  barge  as  mournful  as  the  barque  that  stems 
The  stream  of  fabled  shades,  where  no  star  gems 
The  utter  night,  and  sighs  and  prayers  are  naught. 
Here  'twas  to  part  with  all  aforetime  sought — 
Love,  pleasures,  civic  honors,  diadems. 

The  Traitors'  Gate  ?     How  Time  that  word  belies  ! 
Who  now  but  hath  at  heart  a  spring  of  tears 
For  him,  great  voyager  of  other  years — 
Fain  to  meet  death  beneath  the  open  skies ; 
Or  her,  who,  closing  not,  her  lovely  eyes, 

Filled  the  rude  headsman's  soul  with  nameless  fears  ! 
103 


OLD-WORLD  BELLS 

How  merrily  they  ring — these  old-world  bells, 
These  old-world  bells — how  pitiless  they  ring  ! 
Whether  at  daybreak  an  aubade  they  fling, 
Or  with  increase  of  night  the  burden  swells, 
Forever  and  forever  more  it  tells 
(Or  dark  or  light  the  time)  one  only  thing — 
How  swift  the  hour,  the  year,  the  ages  spring, 
Mindless  of  human  greetings  and  farewells. 

Ye  tongues  exultant !     Wherefore  all  for  mirth, 
Hastening  the  hour  that  hastes  to  come  and  go  ? 
For  never  do  ye  sound  one  note  of  woe, 
Though  ye  were  formed  and  raised  by  hands  of  earth. 
Forgetful  of  your  fashioners  ye  grow, 

Allegiant  to  the  skies,  and  lost  to  all  below. 
104 


OPEN  WINDOWS 

THANK  God,  the  cold  is  gone,  the  summer  here  ! 
My  spirit,  long  shut  in,  once  more  is  free, 
And  feels  its  kindred  in  yon  bounteous  tree, 
Where  all  day  long  birds  sing  their  loves'  sweet  cheer. 
No  longer,  with  bare  thorns  and  few  leaves  sere, 
Taps  on  the  pane,  in  dreary  monody, 
The  eglantine ;  but  now  she  lures  the  bee, 
Her  face  bedewed  with  many  a  morning  tear. 

No  longer  toil  the  streams  in  crystal  bounds ; 
Nor  veil  of  snow  dims  now  the  plains  or  heights ; 
Nor  mask  of  glass  between  us  and  the  sky : 
Through  open  windows  float  all  gladdening  sounds, 
Through  open  windows  come  all  cheerful  sights — 

My  soul  through  open  windows  breathes  a  grateful  sigh  ! 
105 


THE  WIND  OF  SPRING 

AMONG  the  chill  and  early  days  of  spring, 

Comes  sometimes  one  all  glittering  gold  and  gray ; 

A  swift  heraldic  wind  goes  on  its  way, 

And  no  place  is  but  feels  its  visiting. 

"  Wake  !  wake  !  "  and  ever  "  wake,"  I  hear  it  sing. 

And  now,  all  things  respond  as  best  they  may ; 

The  branches  toss,  the  forest  pillars  sway, 

The  old  leaves  of  the  year  take  rustling  wing. 

But  soon  into  the  joyous  tumult  creeps 

A  faint,  a  shuddering  voice  (I  only  know 

'Tis  not  the  sighing  of  the  withered  grass, 

Nor  clash  of  boughs  where  yet  the  leaf-bud  sleeps)  : 

"  We  would  awake — we  cannot  wake  !  "     Alas, 

I  heard  it  not  in  springs  of  long  ago. 
106 


SUNSET 

WHAT  pageants  have  I  seen,  what  plenitude 

Of  pomp,  what  hosts  in  Tyrian  rich  array, 

Crowding  the  mystic  outgate  of  the  day ; 

What  silent  hosts,  pursuing  or  pursued, 

And  all  their  track  with  wealthy  wreckage  strewed. 

What  seas  that  roll  in  waves  of  gold  and  gray, 

What  flowers,  what  flame,  what  gems  in  blent  display- 

What  wide-spread  pinions  of  the  phoenix  brood  ? 

Give  me  a  window  opening  on  the  west 

And  the  full  splendor  of  the  setting  sun. 

There  let  me  stand  and  gaze,  and  think  no  more 

If  I  be  poor,  or  old,  or  all  unblest ; 

And  when  my  sands  of  life  are  quite  outrun, 

May  my  soul  follow  thro'  the  day's  wide  door ! 

107 


AND  DESIRE  SHALL  FAIL 

RESOLVE  me  why,  in  undiverted  quest, 
We  spend  our  most  of  life  beneath  the  sun, 
Unquenched  the  prime  desire,  the  goal  but  one, 
Ev'n  as  the  morning's  flight  is  toward  the  west — 
Resolve  me  why,  soon  as  our  feet  have  pressed 
The  wished-for  bound  (the  long  race  being  run), 
Desire  itself  sinks  down  outworn,  undone, 
Till  of  possession  we  are  dispossessed  ! 

A  starveling  who,  once  seated  at  the  feast, 
That  moment  craves  no  more  to  eat  or  drink — 
A  traveller,  who,  beside  the  fountain's  brink, 
Finds  suddenly  his  thirst  unslaked  hath  ceased — 
A  dungeon  prisoner,  who,  to  light  released, 

Smiles  vacantly  upon  the  broken  link ! 
108 


THE    SHADOW 

LEAVE  me  in  peace  but  for  a  little  space, 
Old  Shadow  ever  hovering  near,  more  near  ! 
Ev'n  from  a  child,  how  many  and  how  dear 
Have  I  beheld  depart  with  changed,  strange  face, 
Until  thou  art  in  every  time  and  place  : 
Thine  is  the  waning  and  the  budding  year, 
The  undernote  in  every  song  I  hear  ! 
Leave  me  in  peace  to  end  my  little  race. 

If  there  be  any  light  to  blot  thee  out, 

Or  kindly  darkness  deeper  than  thou  art, 

May  I  thine  image  sometimes  soothly  miss ! 

They  whom  I  loved — my  love  they  will  not  doubt, 

Nor  grieve  (if  they  in  any  world  have  part) 

That  I  should  find  some  remnant  joy  in  this. 
109 


DOUBT 

THERE  may  be  canker  at  the  rose's  core, 
An  arrow  through  the  summer  darkness  flying — 
A  poisoned  breath  in  the  green  leaves'  low  sighing, 
And  bane  from  Trebizond  our  bees  may  store ; 
And  thou,  whose  face  makes  sunshine  at  my  door — 
How  know  I  but  those  sweetest  lips  be  lying, 
And  in  their  perjuries  thine  eyes  complying, 
What  time  they  say,  "  Trust  us  forevermore  ?  " 

But  no  !  beneath  what  seems  I'll  not  be  prying, 
Not  though  the  rose  have  canker  at  its  core — 
My  love,  not  though  thy  sweetest  lips  be  lying ! 
To  doubt,  were  to  receive  some  wounding  score 
Each  hour — each  day  and  morrow  to  be  dying  ; 

To  Death  I  yield,  but  not  to  Doubt,  who  slays  before ! 

no 


A  FEW  GREAT  THINGS 

A  FEW  great  things  our  mortal  essence  bound, 
And  in  its  primal  health  man's  being  keep ; 
Such  are  light,  breath,  and  food  and  drink,  and  sleep ; 
As  though  not  lapped  in  mystery  profound, 
With  these  the  thankful  Life  fulfils  her  round. 
Happy,  whose  senses  glow,  whose  pulses  leap — 
The  gypsy  on  the  heath's  wide,  windy  sweep — 
The  youth  absorbed  in  dreams — the  victor  crowned  ! 

A  few  great  things  the  soul  of  man  sustain ; 
These  are  its  breath  of  life,  its  food,  its  rest  : 
Some  few  to  love  us  (one  to  love  us  best), 
And  faith  in  God  no  trouble  can  distrain  ; 
Or  proud,  or  lowly,  they  who  entertain 
These  goodly  things,  shall  be  of  all  possessed. 


HOMESICKNESS  AT  SEA 

WITH  the  sweet  Earth  my  sole  allegiance  lies, 
In  her  firm  arms  I  only  am  at  rest. 
I  am  her  child  ;  and,  leaning  on  her  breast, 
Hear  her  great  heart-throbs  and  her  tender  sighs ; 
Nor  save  through  her  know  I  the  bending  skies. 
Alien,  I  drive  before  the  billowy  crest ; 
By  the  void  baseless  deep  I  am  oppressed, 
And  desolate  'mid  its  inhuman  cries. 

Such  homesickness  besets  me  on  the  sea, 
When  I  my  Mother  Earth  have  left  behind, 
So  one  in  one  with  her,  my  loves  are  twined : 
Such  homesickness  within  my  soul  shall  be, 
When  I  before  the  winds  of  time  must  flee, 
And  no  well-known,  green,  sunlit  shore  shall  find. 

112 


ANT/CUS 

THE  gods  are  on  the  lawless  giant's  track, 

With  fulmined  bolts  and  arrows  they  pursue ; 

Yet,  though  they  pierce  his  great  heart  thro'  and  thro', 

And  though  they  stretch  him  on  the  torture-rack 

Till  all  his  mighty  thews  and  sinews  crack, 

See  what  the  ancient  healing  Earth  can  do — 

How  quick  his  ebbed  powers  she  will  renew, 

As  to  her  vital  bosom  he  sinks  back  ! 

Take  lesson  from  the  Titan,  O  thou  sage : 
Pain  and  confusion  wait  on  him  who  pries 
Into  the  secret  of  the  jealous  skies. 
Yet,  if  thou  wilt  on  airy  quest  engage, 
Bethink  thee  often  of  thine  heritage — 
Touch  the  sane  Earth,  where  all  thy  safety  lies  ! 


INTERPRETATION  OF  NATURE 

YONDER  the  self-same  star,  with  self-same  glance, 

Is  looking  on  a  hundred  lands  to-night, 

On  vale,  and  nestling  town,  and  mountain  height, 

Wherever  man  hath  his  inhabitance. 

The  lover,  gazing  in  delicious  trance, 

Hath  his  own  reading  of  that  rubric  bright ; 

Another  fills  the  dim  and  fading  sight 

Of  him  who  looks  his  last  on  Heaven's  expanse. 

There  is  one  murmur  of  the  tided  deep, 
But  many  are  the  voices  set  thereto ; 
And,  at  the  wind's  wild  clarion,  souls  upleap, 
Or  shrink  as  fleeing  deer  when  hounds  pursue. 
O  Nature,  lend  thyself  to  smile — to  weep — 

To  do  whate'er  we  human  creatures  do  ! 
114 


HEREAFTER 

HEREAFTER  shalt  thou  hear  (who  hast  not  heard), 
Hereafter  shalt  thou  see  (who  hast  not  seen), 
Hereafter,  when  void  Silence  falls  between  ! 
Then  shall  come  back  her  futile  heart-wrung  word  ; 
Then,  the  film'd  glances  of  the  wounded  bird, 
The  fluttering  hand,  the  whole  slow  drooping  mien. 
Hereafter,  shall  thine  eye  and  ear  be  keen, 
And  from  the  very  depths  thou  shalt  be  stirred. 

— I  err  :  for  never  shalt  thou  hear,  or  see  j 

Nor  Memory,  nor  great  Death,  shall  teach  thee  aught 

Of  her,  thine  own — whom  little  thou  dost  know ; 

Recognizance  nor  grief  shall  come  to  thee, 

But  on  my  soul  such  record  shall  be  wrought, 

That  I  shall  see  and  hear  her- — I,  who  love  her  so  ! 


THE  BOOK  OF  DEEDS  AND  DAYS 

WIDE  open  lay  the  Book  of  Deeds  and  Days, 

Whose  secret  none  of  all  that  live  may  win. 

— And  now,  at  last,  I  was  to  read  therein. 

I  met  my  Angel's  subtle-smiling  gaze : 

"  Look  !  read  !     And  faint  not  in  thy  first  amaze  !  " 

Trembling,  and  loth  such  venture  to  begin, 

I  found  a  passage  that,  methought  had  been 

Illustrate  with  good  deeds  and  starred  with  praise ; 

Thereunder  was  inscribed  one  word — Alas  / 
A  heavenly  zephyr  quickly  turned  that  leaf; 
How  shone  my  obscure  day  with  trial  fraught ! 
I  read,  By  this  into  the  Kingdom  pass. 
Then  said  that  Angel,  void  of  joy  or  grief, 

"  Stands  no  man's  compt  as  he  himself  had  thought.*' 
116 


THE  GREAT  CIRCLE 

WHOEVER  journeys  from  his  native  earth, 

From  sea  to  sea,  from  sky  to  sky,  so  far, 

The  vault  holds  not  for  him  one  well-known  star ; 

His  footsteps  having  traced  the  world's  wide  girth, 

At  last  he  sees  the  smoke  from  his  own  hearth, 

And  sits  again  before  the  genial  Lar, 

And  dreams,  perchance,  he  never  crossed  the  bar, 

Nor  left  at  all  the  loved  land  of  his  birth. 

If  now,  an  errant  path  my  wanderings  show, 
'Tis  only  the  Great  Circle  I  complete, 
That  hath  its  source  and  end  in  Love  ! — I  go 
But  to  return  unto  my  spirit's  seat — 
A  blest  home-comer,  by  the  ingle-glow, 

Forgetting  alien  triumph  or  defeat ! 
117 


THE  CHILD-SELF 

TO  S.  F.  G. 

AH,  how  we  change  and  change,  as  years  slip  by  ! 
Surely,  our  former  selves  no  more  remain  ; 
Such  strangers  to  the  pleasure,  to  the  pain, 
That  made  our  hearts  go  slow,  or  bounding  high. 
Yet  sometimes  that  looks  forth  within  the  eye, 
Which  brings  the  long  past  sweetly  home  again, 
Ev'n  as  the  ancient  Presence  in  a  fane 
Might  answer  to  the  latest  pilgrim's  sigh. 

Children  were  we  together — mark  it  well. 
Man,  as  he  journeys  on,  drops  youth,  drops  prime, 
Drops  all — like  a  cast  garment  threadbare  worn. 
Drops  all  ? — ah,  no  ;  for  from  old  Age's  cell 
Thro'  tumults  of  midday,  from  time  to  time, 

The  Child -Self  sends  that  startled  look  of  morn  ! 
118 


A   PRAYER   FOR    SUBTLETY 

WEAK  as  I  am,  I  have  not  prayed  for  power 
As  they  who,  right  or  wrong,  would  fain  be  felt 
But  unto  Heaven  daily  have  I  knelt, 
That  gentlest  subtlety  be  in  my  dower, 
Such  as,  of  old,  made  false  Duessa  cower, 
Such  as,  of  old,  obdurate  stone  could  melt, 
And  set  those  spirits  free,  who  long  had  dwelt, 
Devoid  of  hope,  in  some  enchanter's  tower. 

So  might  I  draw  the  stray  lamb  from  its  foe, 
The  traveller  lure  away  from  ambushed  harm  ; 
But  most  of  all  (since  woman's  heart  I  bear) 
When  from  the  Sirens'  reef  sweet  voices  flow, 
Might  I,  with  sweeter  tones,  in  counter-charm, 

Save  great  Ulysses  from  the  watery  snare  ! 
119 


DISCOVERY 

WHAT  is  there  left  our  spirits  to  discover  ? 

No  continent  beyond  the  sea  lies  veiled  ; 

The  plunging  diver,  in  strange  armor  mailed, 

Has  searched  its  floor  while  cumbering  tides  swept  over ! 

Before  us,  up  the  clouds  has  gone  a  rover — 

Victorious  where  Daedalian  boldness  failed  ! 

The  very  stones — the  flowers,  by  name  are  hailed, 

Though  round  their  sweets  the  simple  bees  yet  hover. 

What  more  remains  ?     Enamoured  of  the  rod, 
Pale  saints  and  seers  Divinity  have  shown. 
Enough  !  why  seek  we  a  new  name  for  God  ! 
What  then  remains  ? — For  us,  for  each  alone, 
Here  to  tread  out  the  way,  before  untrod, 

Of  each  sole  life — and  forth  into  the  Wide  Unknown. 
120 


Thomas  ,E.HT 


A  winte 


sv/allov/ 


. 


APR 


305238 


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